Camp Chitaqua
by Cheryl W
Summary: AU "The End": Refusing to say yes to Michael and with the Croatoan virus widespread, Dean is determined to make his last stand at Camp Chitaqua. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1: Camp Chitaqua

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Summary: AU "The End": Refusing to say yes to Michael and with the Croatoan virus widespread, Dean is determined to make his last stand at Camp Chitaqua. No Slash.

Author's Note: When "The End" episode aired back in 2009, I didn't dare hope that Supernatural would still be on the air in 2014. But miracle of miracles, it is! Woo hoo! So in celebration of that feat, I'm giving free reign to my obsession with The End universe. This story is set in that universe but starts around 2012. It will be mostly short one shot glimpses into that Dean's life. It will go off into AU territory and Sam, though thought of, will not make an appearance onto later chapters. Now that this intro is longer than the actual chapter….onto our story.

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Chapter 1: Camp Chitaqua

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Camp Chitaqua, as a stronghold, doesn't seem very promising to Cas. Few log cabins, derelict army vehicles, a generator that won't kick over even when Dean siphons nearly the last dregs of gasoline from the Impala in the attempt to get it started. And the defenses consists of a flimsy chain-link fence with a barbwire scaling it. No deterrent for croats or hell's minions.

But still Cas hopes it will be enough for Dean, will be a place Dean can run to. Maybe can be a haven. And God alone knows how badly Dean needs that, deserves that. Even Cas has a vague clue. Though Dean mostly thinks he is hiding his despair from his loyal companion the past years as they have travelled from place to place, state to state, looking for God or the Colt or just some monster to take their frustration out on.

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When the croatoan virus went viral, it was like some twisted wish come true. Croats and hell's lackeys everywhere they went for them to kill. But there was a cost for all that blood on their hands, even if it was tainted blood.

Leaving a small town behind with only a remaining populace of ten, Dean bitterly said, "We didn't save those people Cas, we condemned them. They'll be croats before the week's out." And Cas hadn't contradicted Dean's dark perdition. Couldn't, because it was most likely true.

"I used to save people. Now all I do is kill..and condemn innocents to a fate worse than death. If I was kind, I woulda offed those 10 people, spared them what's coming."

"But you did save them, Dean. They still have a chance to survive because of you."

"What chance? One in a billion?! They are hopelessly defenseless, have no place to hold up, aren't trained to fight and my brief lessons on croat killing isn't going to do them much good when double their number of croats come knocking. If this is what my version of saving the world looks like…I should just eat a bullet right now."

And the fear that Dean would do that, would abandon hope entirely, spurred Cas into speaking his mind. "Ok, so we change our mandate. Focus on saving everyone we can." '_Starting with you_.' Because Cas wanted to save Dean's goodness above all, couldn't bear it anymore, watching Dean barter away parts of his soul in this fight.

"Saving them for how long? We roll into a town and roll out of it. We've saved them for what? An hour? A day? A week?!"

"We can stop moving, find a place," Cas suggested. '_Stop you from pushing yourself into near exhaustion, of barely sleeping or eating.' _Give Dean the privacy to suffer his nightmares without a constant spectator. '_You want that for Dean's sake or for your own_?' Cas had asked of himself, because he was almost past his point of endurance of witnessing that, of jarring Dean awake from his memories of hell, from his imagined face off with Sam, from his prophetic dreams of a world burning with him there holding the match.

Dean's eyebrows rose. "A place? You've given this some thought?" the truth dawning on him. "Sick of my company, huh? Same as Sam," he derogatorily said, hurt.

"Sick of watching you push yourself, afraid you'll keep going until there's nothing left," Cas voiced his concerns for the first time, wouldn't let Dean think he was like Sam, that he would abandon him like Sam had.

It's frank enough to still Dean, his grip on the steering wheel white knuckled. "I can handle it." Tight, determined, acceptance of whatever condemnation the future holds for him in his tone.

And Cas knew Dean wouldn't stop his headlong run for the end, not for himself, for his own good. But he might do it for others, to save others.

"It's not about what you can handle…it's about a chance to save a few people, maybe even gather a group of people who will fight with us." '_Its about giving you a place to feel safe_.'

Dean's eyes swiveled from road to Cas. "You're serious?"

"Yes," '_As serious as I am about staying by your side_.'

"Huh. " And it wasn't a refusal, gave Cas hope.

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So here they are at an abandoned military base in Iowa, the tenth place they've scoped out.

As Dean starts to pull the cord to attempt to start the generator for the tenth time, Cas sends up a prayer. '_Just give us a sign, God. Some glimmer of hope_.'

When the generator sputters to life, the overhead lights flicker and Dean shoots Cas a genuine smile of happy triumph, it is all the signs that Cas needs to know that this is their haven. The place they are meant to be. And everyone that Dean saves, it will be their haven too.

And maybe, just maybe, it can be something more, can be something Dean Winchester has not had in a very long time: A home.

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TBC

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So, anyone on board for this trip to Camp Chitaqua?

This is story is mostly all planned out, so the updates should come pretty regularly.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	2. Chapter 2: What You'll Be Missing

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 2: What You'll Be Missing

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For so long, Bobby didn't know if he had royally screwed up or made things better, sending Castiel to Dean. Just hadn't been able to fight the clawing worry in his heart at the thought of Dean out there on his own, since Sam had hung up his hunting boots. Had walked away from his own brother, the brother that had pissed off heaven's executive board to save his life.

But now, standing in the shadow of trees on the perimeter of Camp Chitaqua, he had his answer. Heard Dean's laughter drift to him, saw the way Castiel…freaking _smiled_ back at Dean as they taught a new recruit how to shoot. It wasn't the magnetic draw Dean and Sam had to each other, but it was akin to it. Was a type of brotherhood, forged in blood and pain and loss and bond by loyalty and trust. And that right there was the key: Dean _trusted_ Cas.

Trusted the angel when Bobby feared Dean would never trust anyone ever again. That Sam's betrayal had burned all those bridges. Even Bobby's connection had been sorely singed, almost went up in flames when he had pushed Dean to call his brother, to make amends. It was Cas who intervened, who gave him an ultimatum like he freaking had the right. Dean was practically his _son_. But the angel…his words struck deep.

**~~~ One Year Ago~~~**

He and Dean had had another knock down, drag 'em out fight over Sam, had ended when Dean slammed out the door. And that's when the angel came in, cornered him in his own home, used that looming thing he could pull off with his intense gaze and gruff voice.

"You must choose, either to support Dean or to support Sam," Cas had bluntly stated, which only got Bobby's dander up.

"This isn't a debate, this is a family! Maybe if you knew something about that…." But Bobby's tirade cut out and the man took a step back as Castiel stepped closer, squashed the personal space he liked to maintain.

"I know Sam almost choked Dean to death, I know Dean forgave Sam, I know Sam was the one who quit on Dean, walked away, and I know Sam wanted another chance to prove himself to Dean and Dean's the one that decided it was best they stayed apart. I know it all…." Cas bitterly recounted before his gaze softened, "And I know Dean will walk this path, a path he thinks will save Sam, will save the world. He will walk it alone, if he has to but I have no intentions of letting him."

"I'm not giving up on him you, stupid winged idjit! I'm trying to heal him, right what's wrong," Bobby heatedly shot back, had enough of the angel's holier than thou attitude.

"Only Sam and Dean can do that," Cas said like it was the gospel truth.

"And if they won't? Then what, we just let them turn their backs on each other, go whistling off to their own doom?"

"Yes," Cas declared without misgivings. "Destiny put Mary and John Winchester together but it didn't guarantee them happiness, didn't protect their children. And Dean and Sam staying together, that's part of that destiny that Dean's trying to break, to remake into something that saves the world, not condemns it."

"Yeah, and how do we know this "path" doesn't lead to worse things?!" Bobby huffily demanded, because from where he stood, any path that didn't have the brothers on it together was just wrong.

For a moment, the angel looked unsure of himself, would have let out a sigh if he were human. "We don't. But Dean's determined to travel it. And someday soon, he will walk out that door and he won't come back here, won't trust you to keep his confidence, to not tell Sam where he's at. So you have to decide, show him that your loyalty lies with him…or with Sam."

"What if I won't …_can't_ do that, heartlessly decide which son to love more?" Bobby's voice broke even as his heart did at the unconscionable choice that may lie before him.

Cas got that intense expression about him, like he was about to impart some heavenly wisdom. "Maybe it is not about loving either of them more than the other. I think it is about who needs you the most, who seeks your opinion, who comes here to make sure you are well. And by coming to you, Dean risks being found by Zachariah or coming face to face with Sam."

But Bobby scoffed at the last of the angel's worry. "Sam hasn't been here in…." Broke off when he saw Cas' expression, knew he had proved the angel's point for him. Sam hadn't called him but for that one time and that was for him to send other hunters to do a job Sam should have been handling. Since then, mum's the word from the kid, certainly didn't make house visits….or ask about his brother or him and his new life as a wheel chair bound hunter. Didn't call, didn't write, didn't visit….didn't need him, his opinion or his support.

Cas didn't say another word, let Bobby's own findings make up his mind. But when Dean came back into the house, obviously bracing himself for round two thousand five hundred fifty of their 'Call Sam' argument, Bobby greeted him with, "Fine. Sam made his choice and you made yours." Watched as Dean's eyebrows rose in surprise at his new perspective. "So if we're going to deep six the devil…."

"Wait…we?" Dean interrogated, eyes holding his surrogate father's.

"You have a lot of other fools lining up to join you?" he sarcastically drawled, didn't wait for an answer from Dean, knew that the fools were all there: him, Dean and Cas. A kamikaze force of three. '_Boy, the devil should be quaking in his boots,_' he silently sneered but it didn't stop him from hauling out book after book to help his surrogate son with his suicidal mission, the son that was there, the son that needed him.

**~~ Present ~~~**

Dean approached him while his angel BFF remained behind, continuing the training. "So what do you think of our Jedi Academy we got going on here?" Dean asked lightly, but Bobby knew the kid valued his opinion.

"Spelled wire on the perimeters, holy water hoses at the gate, high ground in case someone comes knocking and close enough to five cities, just a few hours to get supplies…"

"…do some croat extermination, take in refugees, snag some hell minions to chat about The Colt's location," Dean added to Bobby's list. "Like they always say: location location location."

"Yeah," Bobby chuckled. "Your real estate agent deserves an extra commission."

"So, you gonna stay?" Dean asked nonchalantly as if he didn't care either way but Bobby knew he did, wanted him there. And he wanted to be there, to take care of the kid, make sure Dean didn't get blinded by his search for The Colt, to know he had family left. But the truth was, Dean would spend his time taking care of _him,_ not the other way around. And Dean had enough people to look after, didn't need to have some cripple added to that list.

"Can't, promised Rufus I'd clean house in the Dakotas with him," Bobby gave in answer, and it wasn't a lie, Rufus did want his help on the croat situation in the west. Didn't matter…couldn't matter that his heart would be here, with this kid that was determined to save the world, even if ripped him apart from the inside out.

Dean nodded his understanding, shuffled a bit on his feet. "But you'll be back after that right?"

"Sure," Bobby offhandedly promised even as they both knew that there might not be an after that, that the camp could be scattered with corpses or croats by that time, that nothing was certain, that every day could be their last. But Bobby couldn't leave, not until he knew one thing. Holding Dean's eyes, asking the kid to trust him enough to tell him the truth, he candidly asked, "You gonna be Ok here?" '_Without me, without Sam, with all of the lives in this camp in your hands, with the world's salvation resting upon you_.' It was a stupid question, was an impossible venture, was the stage for heartbreak and loss and ….maybe the last hope this world had.

Dean gave his trade mark smile that he offered when he wanted to pretend he wasn't hurt, was brave instead of scared, when he was going to fight to the very last of his strength. "I'm gonna be great. Cas has started calling me 'fearless leader' in front of the new soldiers, we've rescued some real knock out women and I just liberated a crate of guns from the local Reserve station. You don't know what you'll be missing."

"Yeah, I do," Bobby choked out, grabbed the kid's coat and yanked him down to his level and into his arms, hung on tight and felt the kid's arms circle him too. _'I'm gonna miss you like I'd miss breathing. I'm gonna miss watching you be the man I'm so proud of. And, God willing, I'm gonna miss you and Sam reuniting.' _

Then he released the kid, make a hasty swipe at his eyes and rolled toward his car, knew he had to go now before his resolve faltered. Balls, if he wasn't just like Dean and Sam, leaving because it was the right thing to do, the thing you did when you loved someone enough to ruin your own life so you wouldn't ruin theirs. And that was screwed up love…but it was Winchester love and he'd come to treasure it like he did the two boys he called his own.

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TBC

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I really appreciate those of you who gave me words of encourage on the first chapter! And I also value those who put the story on alert.

Thanks for continuing to read along.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	3. Chapter 3: Fealty

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's note: Since I'm enjoying reading the comments/questions/guesses from my reviewers, I'm gonna go ahead and keep up my quick posting schedule. As for the questions about this storyline, I don't want to give anything away so I'll just go with the old "you have to wait & see" comment and hope you enjoy what I have in store.

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Chapter 3: Fealty

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Cas was about to enter an open quarantine zone, had already directed his other team of three to scout north and his own team of three was about to head south. Leaning against a ramshackle house, he waved his team forward, was about to bring up the rear when he sensed a presence behind him, an angelic one.

Spinning around even as he pulled the angel sword from his waist, Cas found not Zachariah or any of his blind followers but the archangel Gabriel casually leaning against the house, wearing a baseball cap, jeans, and his trademark smirk. Cas lowered the sword, knew that Gabriel had bailed on his heavenly host family, wasn't one of their henchmen ready to do their bidding so the world ended.

"Well, fancy meeting you here. Come here often?" Gabriel drawled.

"I don't have time for your pranks," Cas bluntly replied, had come to realize who the Trickster was that had reenacted Dean's death over and over again to torment Sam. That the MIA archangel was running around earth, donning another disguise.

"Whoa ho, pranks. You know what pranks are." Gabriel whistled. "You really have changed." But before Cas could determine whether that was meant as a compliment or an insult, Gabriel's mirth was replaced with a deadly intensity not usually found in the good-time archangel's personality. "He's not worth it."

Cas didn't bother guessing who Gabriel was referring to: Their Father or Dean Winchester.

"He's just a man."

Cas' eyes narrowed in defiance now that it was clear Gabriel was talking about Dean.

"How do you think this is going to end?!" Gabriel's tone critical and cynical. "Some ink on a peace treaty? That they will call the game for rain?"

"Why are you here?" Cas demanded, gruff like Gabriel's presence was an intrusion and his predictions wholly unwelcome.

"No, little brother, the question is _why are you here_? You had a great front seat to the battle and you….you traded them for this?!" Gabriel threw his arms out, indicating the world, the city that was hollowed out and abandoned by all but croats.

Cas stepped closer to Gabriel, dared to get in the archangel's face and challenged, "Is it so different than your choice?"

Gabriel's face screwed up with denial and frustration. "I didn't defy heaven as much as…skip out on her. You…you turned traitor, stole away with the Quarterback's lucky and ONLY uniform." Then he released his anger, laughed instead, "Man, Zachariah is _pissed_."

Though that wasn't news to Cas, it troubled him. "Yes, ….Zachariah is….furious with me."

"You were a true blue solider, Castiel. Why did you choose to be loyal to a man, to Dean Winchester?" Gabriel inquired but there wasn't so much condemnation as true wonder in his tone now.

Looking at Gabriel head on, Cas gave his answer. "Because he lets love guide him, because he would willingly sacrifice his life to save others, because he gave up his soul, not out of a betrayal of goodness but out of love. "

But Gabriel scoffed at his words. "Come on! We have known wondrous men, hearts on fire for God. Men of faith. Dean Winchester has no allegiance to our Father or our faith. Why fall from grace for him? Why stay chained to this doomed world for him?"

Castiel knew his answer, had figured it out after asking himself the same questions, day after day. Found now, he wasn't ashamed to tell Gabriel his reasons, knew he wouldn't change his decision even if he could. "I came to care about him when he rose up against Alistair, someone he feared most, to save me. I came to trust him because he trusted me, no matter that I once threatened to throw him back into Hell. I sought to help him because he needed me when all Zachariah wanted to do was use me. And I defied heaven for him because he chose to fight for the world's survival, for his brother's soul rather than secure peace in heaven for himself. He chose others over himself. He chose me over his own well-being. I will not abandon him like all the others have." '_Like even his brother has.'_

"So you admire his chutzpa, and he's saved your bacon. I get that, I do." Reaching forward, Gabriel companionably clamped a hand on Castiel's shoulder. "But you've paid tribute, you can leave him. I can even make it like he doesn't even know you're gone…that you ever existed, if you want."

"I don't stay out of obligation…I stay out of friendship, brotherhood," Cas frostily returned, affronted that Gabriel thought he would abandon Dean, was looking for a way to slip away, rejoin heaven's ranks.

"You _have_ brothers…thousands of them," Gabriel reminded.

Cas' response was instantaneous and unwaveringly earnest. "None are Dean."

"Man, you're past the point of no return," Gabriel sighed, wondered if it was an illness everyone got when they spent too much time in Dean's vicinity. First Sam, now Castiel with the foolish loyalty shtick.

"You see in him what I do. You see the good in Sam too. If you didn't, you wouldn't have even bothered with them," Cas wisely judged the errant archangel's actions.

Shrugging, Gabriel dismissed Cas' insight with a "They're fun to mess with, Castiel. They ain't worth dying over."

"I disagree. I have died once for Dean and I will do it again if it saves him," his conviction to uphold that vow unquestionable, even to the trickster archangel.

Shaking his head like a child under his care made a ridiculous decision, Gabriel released Cas. "Can't say I didn't give you a chance. And it is probably one of the last, to make amends with Zachariah, to get a welcome home party instead of an execution. You get that right?"

Cas nodded. "I'm not going to change my mind."

"You might not change your mind…but you'll play this conversation over and over in your head as time goes on, as this world dies…and the man you have given up everything for becomes a heartless stranger who will trade your life away for an egotistical and very doomed attempt for victory," Gabriel pessimistically foretold.

But none of that had the power to plant seeds of doubt in Cas. "That's the thing I've learned about trust, Gabriel. You can't turn it on and off, have to trust…or not trust. And trusting unconditionally for a good cause, a good man, even when it almost certainly will end badly, it's a better road to travel than any I've been on before."

"Have it your way," Gabriel conceded with that smirk of his before he snapped his fingers, disappeared, let Cas to the fate he had chosen.

And when Cas and his teams returned to camp Chitaqua, when Dean debriefed him, Cas didn't mention his encounter with Gabriel. Because as much as he was content with his choices, he was afraid Dean wasn't, that his best friend would tell him he made the wrong decision, would order him to change his mind, to save himself, to go with Gabriel. That Dean would heap more blame on his own head for choices that were never Dean's to make.

'_They are my choices and I've made them_.' And he knew the consequences, knew the fight was most likely doomed, but true loyalty, it didn't crumble at the notion of things like pain or defeat. True loyalty stayed unerringly on course, and for him, that meant never leaving Dean to fight his battles on his own.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	4. Chapter 4: Asset

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 4: Asset

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The problem with scampering around bombed out cities was, sometimes the friggin' city fell on you. Well, part of a _building_ fell on you. Left you pinned to the cracked pavement like a bug on a kid's science project board. Course no grinning croats usually eyed up the bug. Dean wasn't that lucky.

Try as he might, he couldn't wiggle out from under the weight of the concrete, could feel his legs, even shuffle them around a bit but none of that was helping him get free. And his gun, it was trapped down there too, out of his reach. And the two croats were enjoying his predicament, were all smiles with teeth that hadn't been brushed since they got turned. Who needed dental care when you were zombies, right?

"Well, here's a willing new recruit," The older man chuckled as his companion, a twenty something woman, smiled. "Haven't had one of them for a while. To just…lie down and welcome our gift."

"Yeah, about that. Sorry. I'm gonna have to pass. My mom told me not to take gifts from strangers," Dean wisecracked even as he frantically searched for something within his reach that he could use as a weapon. However, unless he wanted to try and topple them with pieces of concrete the size of pebbles, he was screwed. He warily watched as the woman croat pulled a knife and cut her forearm even as the man crouched down beside Dean.

Never truly weaponless, Dean used his hands, punched the male croat away from him and had no qualms at punching the girl if she got within striking range. Would hold them off or kill them with his bare hands if he had to. But that surge of confidence faltered when another croat joined the party, suddenly was on the pavement by his head, was pinning his arms over his head onto the ground, was using his zombie strength on him, was easily squashing his efforts to break free.

And the girl, she was getting all kinky on him, was crawling up the concrete trapping him to the ground like it was part of a seduction routine. Maybe she was a stripper in a past life, when she didn't have bald patches in her slimy brown hair, clothes that stank and dirt caked on her face. She was putting more pressure on his trapped legs he didn't appreciate any more than her attempt at a come-hither look. Then she was at the edge of the concrete, peering down at him, nearly oblivious to the male croat pinning him to the ground, making their little interlude not so very private. With the knife gripped in her right hand, she suddenly seemed uncertain whether she wanted to turn him or stab him to death.

Choices. Choices.

Before she made her final decision, a shotgun blast shattered the seductive mood and Dean's date was knocked off the concrete slab and she wasn't getting back up, ever again. The croat pinning Dean spun around, was making a charge to whoever was wielding the shotgun but another boom of the gun had him dropping to his knees before collapsing face down, giving Dean his first look at his rescuer: Chuck Shurley.

"Hey, Dean," Chuck almost shyly greeted, still a little intimidated by the older hunter. Which was kind of sad considering they were in the middle of an apocalypse with zombies trying to kill him. One of which popped up just then on the other side of Dean. With clumsy motions, Chuck broke down the shotgun, dug a badly shaking hand into his pocket, retrieved the shotgun shell and ..dropped it on the ground.

Realizing that Chuck needed a moment to get his crap together, Dean ran interference by reaching out and grabbing hold of the croat's ankle. Got a kick to the face for his trouble but he still hung on through the ringing in his head and the pain shooting up his cheek. Then there was the blessed sound of a shotgun round being emptied into croat flesh and he released the ankle as the croat toppled to the ground.

Then Chuck was looking down into Dean's face with concern, but before he could ask if Dean were alright, Dean asked, "How?"

Chuck didn't bother trying to pretend he didn't get Dean's question, had expected it all along. "Dream…two weeks ago. I was afraid I was going to be too late."

"Just in time," Dean praised, would grill Chuck later on what other dreams/prophetic visions he was having. "Help me get this thing off me," he gritted out even as Chuck joined his struggle to lift the concrete. And with their combined strength, they managed to give Dean room enough to pull his legs free before letting the concrete slab crash back onto the ground.

With Chuck's assistance, Dean lurched to his feet, grimaced as he rubbed his right thigh but his legs were taking his weight and that was good enough for him. Giving Chuck's shoulder a squeeze, he beckoned, "Come on…" had taken two steps before he realized Chuck wasn't following him. Turning, he read the uncertainty in the prophet's unguarded expression. "What, you have a condo with girls to get back to?" he quipped, didn't know where the prophet had come from but by his shredded shirt and torn pants, long hair, full beard and wild, bloodshot eyes, he wasn't off living the highlife.

"No but…I know you've formed your own little army," Chuck stammered, didn't say more like that explained his hesitation.

But Dean's expression clouded with confusion. "You a pacifist all of a sudden," he jeered, made a point to look down to the three dead croats on the ground, courtesy of Chuck. Toed the one guy before meeting Chuck's gaze. "This guy wouldn't believe that."

Chuck shuffled on his feet, hated to admit this to Dean Winchester. "I'm not a soldier."

In protest to that statement, Dean made a dramatic show of looking down again to Chuck's kills.

"Ok, yes, I killed them but…." Chuck began, but then remembered that Dean knew he was a coward at heart. At their initial meeting, he had refused to help him or Sam, was content to just sit back in his house and write their life story. It was Dean who had dragged him into the face off with Lilith. So there really was no measure of pride that he could lose in Dean's eyes. So he just admitted it all, right then and there. "I'm close to hurling and I only did it because you were…she was…" his eyes dropping to the croats on the ground before meeting Dean's eyes again. "I wouldn't be an asset to you."

Instead of disgust, Dean smirked at the prophet's declaration. "You just saved my life, Chuck. I think that puts you in the asset column."

"But…"

Dean held up his hand to stop Chuck's continued self-depreciation. "Honestly, I've got enough grunts but I really could use a quartermaster, a supply guy. Someone to keep the camp running on all…well, all _one cylinder_ that it has. You up for that?"

A relieved and happy smile broke across Chuck's face. "Yeah. Yes. Definitely." Then Chuck almost ran to come to Dean's side.

But Dean reached out, put a hand on Chuck's chest and practically loomed down at the shorter man as he warned without a trace of his earlier warmth, "One rule: my past is nobody's business but my own. If you can't keep your mouth shut…."

"I've been a jerk, making a profit off your past. Well, never really a _profit_ but…"At Dean's darkening glare, Chuck held up his hands in submission. "I won't tell anybody anything. They can torture me and I won't say a peep, will be a mute…"

"Ok. Ok. Let's get out of here already." They made quick work back to Dean's car and as he navigated out of the quarantine zone, Dean fought down the urge to ask Chuck if he'd had any visions about Sam, if Sam were alive. But he couldn't bear to even say his brother's name. Sam had been a forbidden topic and he couldn't break that silence now, not even to hear good news. Trading off watching the hole puckered road and Chuck, Dean chastised, "You do know it was stupid for you to come out of whatever hole you were in, travel who knows how long just to get in the middle of a croat execution party."

Chuck stared down at his dirty fingernails, fidgeted in the seat, and purposefully didn't face Dean. "I let you down, was too scared to tell you the visions I had about the opening of the Cage. I didn't stop any of it from happening." But then he raised his eyes to Dean's, was actually proud of his next statement. "So the very least I owed you was to be there when you needed someone to save you."

Dean nodded, swallowed a lump in his throat as memories resurfaced, of coming for Sam at the convent but getting there too late, of he and Sam working together to off Ruby, of them standing there, clutching onto his each other as the Cage released its long held prisoner. "I probably wouldn't have listened to you anyway," he said aloud to Chuck. Back then, he would have never believed Sam would pick Ruby over him, would nearly choke him to death in a motel room and look at him with such hatred.

'_Seeing is believing_,' he bitterly thought and knew then that he couldn't be blindsided again, had to face things head on, had to accept the way things were. "Don't suppose you've got any insight into what comes next?" his question vague enough to not be about Sam, even if it was about Sam.

But there was regret in Chuck's tone. "No, I haven't had a vision in over two years. Nothing after the Cage opening and then…a couple days ago, I had the one about you. I figured it meant something." '_Was my chance to redeem part of myself, to save someone worth saving, to not die as a coward.'_

A spike of trepidation went through Dean at the real possibility that this "vision" was given to Chuck by Zachariah, that the angel was using the prophet to locate him. Was another trap for him so they could brow beat and torture him into saying yes to being Michael's Sword aka meatsuit. But he didn't pull the Impala over, couldn't dump Chuck on the roadside, had set up the camp because he wanted to save people. '_And if I can't save the people I care about…friggin' camp's a full out failure._' And somewhere, somehow, Chuck Shurley, Prophet of the Lord and author of the Winchester Gospels had come to be someone he cared about.

Dean didn't let himself dwell on the sad fact that, if Sam came knocking, he wasn't sure if he'd let his brother into the camp. That when he had established the camp, it was never with Sam in mind. That his parting words to Sam, he meant them. That they should pick a hemisphere, stay away from each other for good. That their brotherhood, it was a thing of the past.

As if his thoughts conjured up Sam in Chuck's mind, the prophet said, "You can tell Sam I won't even bring up your past in private. I'll scrub it from…"

"Sam's not with me," Dean gruffly said and there was a well of meaning and finality in the statement.

Too stunned to read Dean's keep-out signs, Chuck apprehensively stammered, "He's not…"

"We went our separate ways. No one knows about Sam and it better stay that way," Dean lowly threatened, eyes again stealing away from the road to skewer Chuck.

Chuck thought the world as he knew it was dead and gone when the croatoan virus went widespread but hearing Dean deny Sam, it put a new spin on the world going to hell in a handbasket. All he could do was numbly nod his agreement even as Sam's words from almost six years ago rang in his head.

"_Dean's not..He's not Dean lately. Ever since he's gotten out of Hell. He needs help. He's looked after me my whole life. I can't return the favor?"_

Suddenly it felt wrong to Chuck, that he was the one that had saved Dean's life that day, that Dean was alone in an infected city, that Sam wasn't looking after Dean. That when Dean needed help…Sam wasn't there. That wherever Sam was…he was alone.

'_And wouldn't that make a crappy ending to my book series._' Because the heart of each book was the bond, the brotherhood between the Winchesters, and if that were truly lost….But he couldn't believe that, knew the brothers too well, was too vested in them to give up, to not cling to hope that somehow, someway, they would be brothers again. Because, when it came down to it, he was a sappy, happy ending kind of guy and if he had any say in the matter, that's exactly how the Winchester Gospels was going to wrap up.

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TBC

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Thanks so much for every single person who's offered me support for this story! Thanks also for the silent readers out there.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	5. Chapter 5: Liability

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: I'm hoping you like this chapter because it's been setting on my laptop's hard drive since 2009…ok, not THIS laptop's hard drive but its predecessors. I wrote it after "the End' episode aired and then didn't have the guts or the initiative to post it and put a story together. So, here we are five years later and I'm unveiling it.

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Chapter 5: Liability

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Dean didn't recognize the cry of pain behind him. And it was so twisted, that he knew the sound of pain each person on this mission made. Just another wonderful byproduct of war. But this cry…it was unfamiliar …and yet the voice… wasn't. Swiveling around, he saw the team member that was down.

His heart stopped. Cas. Cas was down. Castiel. The angel who was supposed to be invincible was lying in the hallway…bleeding.

Growling out a "No!" of protest, of denial, Dean ran back, ignored the bullets pinging on the walls, ran to Cas's side. Latching onto the angel's shoulder, he hauled him over his shoulder. But not before their eyes met, not before he saw the stunned realization in Cas' eyes, the fear and pain. Dean had no words for this, not now. Just had '_Save Cas. Keep Cas safe'_ running through his head because, the one person he thought he didn't have to worry about dying, had just become his greatest liability.

With Cas draped over his shoulder, he ran, could hear the grunt of pain from the angel and it twisted in his gut, Cas being hurt, being able to _be _hurt. "Hang on, Cas. I'll get us out of here," he reassured gruffly before he caught up to his team and slipped into the middle of their ranks.

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Dean was the best medic they had in the camp and, once upon a time, Dean might have snorted at that notion. But the last few months, he had taken on that additional responsibility with grim determination, like he did all the rest of the weight that fell on his shoulders. So it was his hands that dug the bullet out of Cas's side, were covered in blood that wasn't supposed to be spilled, not for anything less than heaven's most highest calling. Certainly not spilled for him, for his ragtag army, for a mission that availed them nothing. And it was worse, sensing Cas' eyes on him, watching him, observing him hurting him in an effort to save him. Wondered how the angel could stand the sight of him, because, one way or another, he had done this to him, had destroyed him, had robbed him of his power…of his place.

Funny how his hands only began to shake when he began to stitch the now vulnerable flesh together again.

He startled when a hand closed over his and he forced himself to look up at Cas, to meet his friend's eyes, to face the angel's righteous and all deserved hatred. But there was no hatred in Cas's gaze, was the same sorrow, the same compassion that had been there in the angel's eyes after Dean had watched his mother make her decision, make her own deal, when he desolately realized that he had done nothing to change the course of his family's demise.

"Dean, it's alright," Cas gently assured now, could sense the other man's pain above his own physical pain. He had always been in tune with the man that he had stolen from prediction and whom he had come to admire and trust and love like a brother.

"Alright?!" Dean scoffed, shaking his head, eyes pooling. "This is definitely not alright," his voice choked as he raised his blood covered hands, looked down at his friend's wounded body. "Nothing about this is alright, Cas."

"I sensed this day would come," Cas admitted, saw the shock in the man's face. "Today was a bad day for it to happen though," he joked, had learned that trait from Dean, used it now to try and remove the sorrow and guilt from his friend's green eyes.

"You're…you can't…you feel…" Dean stammered.

"My grace…it's nearly gone," Cas admitted, found that it hurt saying it aloud, made his heart thud in his chest, felt grief suddenly, for something precious lost.

"If you call on Zachariah..." Dean hurriedly began, needing a solution, determined to undo the damage before it was too late for Cas.

"I won't," Cas firmly cut in, knowing that he would not betray Dean, not even to save his grace.

"But he might take you back. Tell him you realize I'm destroying the world, that I should say yes to Mikey…" Dean's words rushed together as he grasp at any hope left to save Cas, to save _someone_ because it felt like a long time since he had truly saved anyone.

"No," Cas quietly said, didn't need to raise his voice. Wanted Dean to know that he wasn't going to betray him, that he had made his choice and he would live with the consequences. But Dean wasn't looking at him, was starting to pace the floorboards, bloody hands fisted, forehead furrowed in concentration.

"Maybe I could call Zachariah, or drop you at a church or…" Dean theorized aloud, mind going a thousand miles a minute.

"Dean, no!" Cas shouted, earning his friend's surprised eye contact. "I made my choice, I knew the consequences."

"What?! So that's supposed to be OK with me! You already died once for me, Cas. I think you would have to agree that's one time too many," Dean growled, his voice bitter instead of grateful.

"The decision is mine to make, Dean. Then …and now," Cas calmly returned, eyes tracking Dean, having watched the man long enough to know how to read his eyes, to see the guilt there.

Coming to a halt, Dean faced Cas, lowly snapped, "Well, I'm ordering you to make a new decision, a better one."

"Haven't you heard, I'm turning human and that means I can be stubborn and disobedient…" Cas smirked, liking how the expression felt on his face, of the freedom of being stubborn, "just like you." And there was equal parts censorship and affection in the accusation, remembered too well how Dean's stubbornness almost got the human killed …and saved him, caused him anger and exasperation and relief and respect.

But Dean's eyes darkened at the comparison, went from guilt to shame. "The last thing anyone wants to be is me, Cas." '_And you know that better than anyone, Cas. What I am at my core, what I'm capable of._' "No, there's got to be a way to fix this…" his eyes on Cas, asking the angel for help as much as he was offering it.

"And you expect me to side with Zachariah when I know how wrong he is? I think you know how selling your soul turns out," Cas shot back, a sharpness to his tone, an incredibleness that Dean would think he would walk that path.

In angry despair, Dean kicked over a stool and turned his back on Cas. "This isn't what I wanted to happen, to you..to any of them," he admitted, hand waving to include the camp of his 'soldiers'. "Or even to me. I thought…I thought I was doing the right thing, was .." he snorted bitterly, "saving the world. Egotistical of me, huh? Never did a thing right and then I go thinking that I could save the world. All I've ever done is condemn people…_lose_ people."

But Cas knew the people that Dean meant, the one person the Dean had wanted to save the most. "Sam has his own choices to make…"

"Yeah and my dad and my mom and my grandparents," Dean tallied, his back still to the angel, didn't want to see the empathy in Cas' eyes. "Choices. Wrong choices, all of them. What made me think I could break the chain?!"

"It's not a matter of breaking the chain but ending it," Cas clarified, wanted to offer hope to his friend even as his own was fading. "For four years I've watched you and you've been broken and lost and defeated, but you always regained your footing somehow and found the strength to fight again. You don't give up, even when you should." '_Even when I wish you would have_,' he thought, remembered the path Dean had once been on, the peace that could have been his if he had gone along with Zachariah's plan, had simply let Sam go. Instead, Dean hadn't given up on his brother..or the world, had railed at him for lacking the courage to do the same. And he had known, as soon as Dean said, "_We're done_," that they couldn't be, that Dean was right, that there was something worth fighting for: the love of family, of friends.

Dean shook his head and bowed it a moment at Cas' words, remembered being that man, had thought he had died a few years back, but Cas remembered him, kept that part of him alive, even as Cas was condemning himself to mortality. Sighing, he turned back to Cas, saw the angel…the man sitting on the bed, bleeding, watching him, his eyes telling him that he still believed in him, even when his world was shattering. It gutted Dean…and drove him to be the strength Cas counted on him to be. "Goes along with the stubborn and disobedient streak you mentioned." But the next second his voice cracked with his apology, because, out of all his faults, he never truly meant to bring Cas down to his level, to be the angel's undoing. "Cas, I'm sorry." A tear slipped down his cheek.

"I know," Cas quietly acknowledged, forgiveness and loyalty and brotherly love there in his voice, in his look. "I'm sorry, too. That I've become a liability to you, now."

And Dean almost flinched, Cas's thoughts mirroring his earlier realizations. But Cas didn't understand the _type _of liability he was: not to Dean's missions, but to Dean's peace of mind, to his heart. Looking out the window, away from Cas, he gruffly ordered, "Just don't die on me, Cas."

"You mean again?" Cas joked and it earned him a true but small laugh from Dean and he felt his heart warm.

Turning to face Cas, Dean raised his finger. "One. That's all you get. And you've used up all your quota."

"If that's the case, I guess there's no getting rid of me now," Cas lightly teased, hoped Dean read the promise underscored in his words.

"Never said I wanted it any other way," Dean earnestly replied, didn't know of any other way to thank Cas for staying with him, for giving up everything he had for him, for believing in him when it was the last thing he should do.

And not one of Cas' brothers and sister in heaven had ever sought out his companionship, they had certainly never fought tooth and nail to keep it. Had never offered him what Dean just did: A place to belong, regardless of his vulnerabilities, of his failures. Holding Dean's gaze, he proclaimed the only truth that mattered anymore: "Then we're both right where we're supposed to be."

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for those wonderful reviews! And it's awesome to hear from some of my reviewers that they are obsessed with endverse like I am! That's such a nice bonus to encourage me to keep writing and to keep posting this fic.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	6. Chapter 6: Bearable

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 6: Bearable

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"I can still be useful," Cas growled, finding that, with his angelic grace fading, his floodgate of emotions were opening. And right now, frustration was topping all others.

"Yeah, you can. Here," Dean answered, pointing down, indicating the cabin and the camp they were presently in.

Cas' diminishing angelic glow dulled even more as he understood Dean no longer trusted him to have his back on a mission. "I'm still a soldier," he resolutely stated, was one for thousands of years and wasn't going to hang up his shield just because his grace was flickering out on him.

That at least had Dean losing some of his hard edge. "Yes, that's why you're working on gathering intel."

"From here…not out there," Cas interpreted bitterly.

Dean's answer was an implacable, "Yes."

"Dean, I might be losing some of my angel invincibility but …"

"You're human, Cas!" Dean sharply corrected, hated that Cas was vulnerable now, that Cas' loyalty to him had made him so.

Hurt and angry at Dean's seeming judgment, Cas fired back, "You're human, too! Or you are starting to believe your own hype about being unkillable?!"

Instead of being hurt by the taunt, Dean grabbed Cas by the jacket and yanked him close, snarled, "The only myth about me that's true is I am a cold hearted sadist but I know how to get the job done. And you do that by being prepared, carrying the right weapons and being able to trust the people you're with to have your back."

When a flinch distorted the ex-angel's features at his cutting remark, Dean fought down his own internal flinch, knew that he was being unfair. That there were a crap load of hunts where he had been unprepared, weaponless and he trusted the wrong people. But then again, his objections to Cas joining the mission didn't have a thing to do with any of that.

"You're staying here, Cas." Then he stormed out the door before he crumbled under the hurt look in Cas' eyes, before he took back his insults, before he came clean and told Cas that he couldn't, wouldn't risk his life.

He did flinch though, when he heard something shatter in Cas' room that probably was the Tiffany lamp Cas was so fond of.

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His pain wasn't that bad, well, not his physical pain. But his emotional pain…that was a new one for Cas. Sure, he had felt something before, when he was all angel. Had felt loyalty to Dean, had felt fear when the seals were breaking, had felt helpless when he couldn't protect Dean from Alistair, had felt grief when he thought Dean was severing their ties with his "we're done". But all of that, it was surface level feelings, wasn't this kicked-in–the-gut feeling that was washing over him.

It was somehow real now. The loneliness of being left behind from the mission, of being hurt by Dean's rejections, the shame of being useless since he was something less than an angel. And fear, that emotion made breathing hard, his chest tighten, his heart pound in his chest and he hated that he felt it every time Dean left the camp, went on a mission without him. Protecting Dean, it had been his job for the past four years, had been his mandate. Was the thing he knew how to do when he didn't know anything else.

Now Dean didn't trust him to do it anymore. To have his back, to protect him, to save him.

Desperately, he searched for some way to stop feeling, to quiet his unrest, to make the hurt go away.

And then he had a revelation, remembered the numbness that had come over him when he'd been shot and the good drugs Dean had somehow tracked down took effect, had softened the edge of his agony, had even eased his worries of what the future held for him, for an ex-angel. He held that pill bottle in his hand now, knew that he could know that feeling again, could just swallow a pill and things would be bearable.

'_I get bearable and what does Dean get? Who watches his back while I numb my hurt feelings? Who proves to him that not everyone lets him down? Walks away and lets him fend for himself? I made him a promise to not die…but more than that. I promised him I'd stay with him, body…and mind.'_

Throwing the pill bottle across the room, he slipped on his boots, shrugged into his jacket and headed out of his cabin.

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Dean stopped short when he saw that there was a passenger in the Impala. Setting his jaw, he ripped open the door, growled, "Get out," even as he latched onto Cas' arm, ready to physically pull the angel…ex-angel from the car.

But Cas still had some angel mojo left, used his superior strength to grab onto Dean's hand, hold it to his arm and keep them both immobile. "If I can't be out there with you, can't still fight, there's no purpose for me." Left off the '_to be alive'_ because he didn't want to come off overemotional, to put more worry on Dean's shoulders. And then he didn't draw in a breath, just locked eyes with Dean and silently begged the man to give him another chance to prove his worth all over again, to let him know that his angel abilities had always ranked second to his loyalty to the man before him.

Dean understood Cas' sentiments, they were his own. If he couldn't fight…he might as well lay down and die. The fight was the only thing that kept him going, getting up in the morning, pulling the trigger all day long, closing his eyes at night. And maybe it was the same for Cas, his sole purpose in life. And he knew he couldn't withhold that from Cas. He didn't have the right, not when he had ripped so many things away from Cas already.

Pointing his finger at Cas, he commanded, "You follow my orders to the T. You got that?!"

"Yes," Cas breathed out, smile beaming. He wasn't prepared for but welcomed Dean's hand behind his neck and another on his shoulder.

"You made me a promise, you better keep it," green eyes holding blue, demanding a promise on top of the original promise.

"I will," Cas quietly vowed but Dean had already ducked out of the window, was crossing over to the drivers' side of the Impala, was taking him at his word. Suddenly Cas knew he had chosen right because, the wondrous feeling of being trusted that was coursing through him, it was so much more than bearable and there wasn't a drug in the world that could rival it. Knew that he must have given into a loopy smile that he'd caught himself doing in the mirror a few times because Dean jeered from the driver's seat, "You stoned?"

Cas laughed. "Nope. This is just how I roll."

"Roll? What are you now, a rap singer?" Dean snorted but there was amusement in the man's eyes and when he set the Impala into motion, for the first time in a month, he didn't have to look in his rearview mirror to find his best friend and that felt all manners of right.

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TBC

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I'm so happy some of you dropped me a review and told me you enjoyed last chapter! Thanks so much for that. And thanks to everyone who is reading this story.

On a side note, an anonymous reviewer asked if I intended to finish my SN story "Battlefront". The answer is yes…but when, I'm not sure. This storyline and that one always felt like the same topic, a future that the Winchesters were heading for but that was diverted. And I felt guilty doing this story without finishing that one but, as you can tell, I did it anyways. Long paragraph to say, I intend to finish it, even have the final scenes played out in my head but I need the right words to convey it all. But, my anonymous reviewer, I'm really touched that you still think of that story and want more (not to mention that you gave me such kind words on this story).

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	7. Chapter 7: Devastation

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 7: Devastation

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Dean didn't know it was a trap until it was too late, until the hairs on the back of his neck stood up, until Zachariah popped into the room. The Hell minions who had them cornered shrieked as their eyes burned out and then they dropped dead to the floor, leaving good facing off with supposed good.

Zachariah offered up that smug smile that always twisted Dean's stomach. "Dean, you don't mind if we make this a private conversation do you?" Then he snapped his fingers and all of Dean's soldiers except Cas were just gone from the room.

"What did you do to them!" Dean demanded, menacingly stepped toward Zac, only Cas' sudden grip on his arm halted his charge.

"Oh, don't worry. They are nice and safe on the outskirts of the city's quarantine. Now, let's you and I get down to brass tacks." Then it was Zachariah closing in the distance between him and Michael's sword. "It's time for you to do your duty."

Holding his ground, Dean sallied back, a smile on his face, "What part of "no" has you so confused?"

But Cas could feel the tension pouring off his friend, knew that they were backed into a corner and Zachariah wasn't really asking, was commanding

Instead of getting angry, Zachariah simply shrugged. "Thought you might change your mind now. Seeing the state the world's in…that you _let_ it get in by breaking that first seal." He circled Dean and Cas. "And you and our little rebel rouser here haven't done a thing to undo any of it. Have been busy killing infested humans, chasing some illusive Colt."

At Cas' narrowed eyes, Zac acknowledged, "Oh yes, I've kept track of your …'_exploits' _seems too heroic a word…maybe 'fumblings'. Not first hand, you know. The rock you've been hiding under is quite off my radar. That's why this little lure needed to be thrown out. Really, Dean, falling into my trap twice? First with the Michael's Sword and now with The Colt. You're sadly predictable."

"Well, then you should see this coming: No!" Dean growled right in Zac's face.

But Zachariah wasn't discouraged, gave that annoying smile. "See that's what you think you should say but I have something that will change your mind."

If Cas hadn't rapidly been losing his angel essence over the past months, had even a residual of power to transport Dean away, he would have right then. Would have gotten his friend away from Zachariah before the angel said his next words, because deep down, Cas feared that Zachariah had finally gained a true leverage over Dean. That if Dean wasn't there to hear it, he couldn't be swayed…or hurt by it. "Whatever he's about to say, don't believe it, Dean," he cautioned his friend, hand tightening on Dean's forearm as he stepped closer, as if he could protect Dean from the words yet to come.

"Castiel, Castiel, so little trust, so little faith. It's really not astounding that you're so lost that you've taken up with this pathetic, self-loathing human," Zac purred then turned to Dean. "If you want, I can throw in a pardon for Castiel in your terms of surrender."

"Dean's more of a leader than you've ever been," Castiel growled, found it was Dean's grip holding him back this time.

Cas's fervent loyalty only made Zachariah chuckle. "Oh, ho. Little hero worship going on here." But then the mirth faded and Zac stood before Dean, wearing an expression of urgency that wasn't often seen. "Want to _deserve_ his loyalty?" he asked, pointing to Cas. "What to stop the dying, the killing?" Stepping closer, he reached a hand toward Dean but Cas grabbed Zachariah's hand, halted it millimeters from Dean's chest.

"Stop the pain in here," Zac said, pointing to Dean's heart, to the part of Dean that Cas knew was nearly broken. "Then you have to stop thinking of just yourself, have to start seeing the big picture. The other side, they've got their star players, can now take out our defenses. They will win…if we don't have you, if Michael can't step into this battle, start defending this planet, you know the one you think you're saving by saying no."

As perceptive as ever, Dean hoarsely repeated back the words that clutched at his heart. "What do you mean…they have their star players."

Zachariah almost looked sympathetic. "You know what I mean, Dean. Your brother….he said yes."

The breath rushed out of Dean, making him think Zachariah had taken his lungs like he once had Sam's. Numbly, he felt Cas's arm catch him, hold him upright, keep him together. "No," he denied but his voice was a travesty of grief, of terror, of harsh acceptance.

But Zachariah didn't gloat, simply held Dean's pained gaze. "You don't have to take my word for it, Dean. It happened in Detroit. I'm sure some of your hunters can confirm it. Your brother said yes and now, with his true vessel, the devil is nearly unstoppable. And no matter the good you've done as a man, as a hunter, as a soldier…it won't be enough, Dean. It wouldn't ever be enough."

Dean dragged in a ragged breath, pulled out of Cas and paced away before turning to Zachariah, his eyes radiating soul decimating sorrow. "But if I become Michael's Sword, the odds change."

"Change?! Victory is assured," Zachariah touted like it was the gospel truth, like they could start tuning up the hallelujah band awhile.

But Dean wasn't so gullible. "You don't know that," he growled, hated that the angel was still trying to sell him a bill of goods, couldn't be honest with him even now, when everything seemed on the verge of changing….or ending.

"Come on, even you must have heard about a little book called the Bible, a chapter entitled Revelation," Zachariah patronizingly retorted. "If things go as they are predestined, if you say yes, the devil goes down to the pit. A happy ending for all."

'_For everyone but Sam,'_ Dean dimly thought. '_Not to mention everyone torched in the battle to come_.'

Cas didn't have to read Dean's mind to know where the man's thoughts were, that they would be on his brother…and the devastation of his world by a full out spiritual war. And he knew Dean wasn't wrong. Cas had watched heavenly battles before, knew the carnage it caused, the human lives decimated in the crossfire. But it was Dean's choice, as it always had been.

Dean inhaled and then nodded his head but his words weren't ones of acceptance. "Thanks for the family update, Zac. Cas, let's hit the road." Then he turned to go, like Zac would just let him leave.

"You can't honestly think your little life is more important than saving the world, of good defeating evil?" Zachariah incredulously demanded.

Dean turned back to the angel. "If Sam said Yes,'' and his voice broke on that and his chin trembled before he swallowed down the emotion, the hurt, the betrayal, the agony. "Then I can't afford to. I can't put things in motion, can't….give up now that he has."

"Things are already in motion. Look at your world Dean!" Zachariah shouted, pointing out the window at the barren remains of a once bustling city.

"But it's still here, my world. With good people fighting evil. Your battle…it would be indiscriminate, take out the good with the bad, would leave my world torn apart, broken. Because you don't care about us, about humans, about anything but getting the chance to kick back and reign in heaven. The earth can implode for all you care…as long as it takes the devil with it, right? You'd sacrifice all of us, all of this.." arms wide to encompass the world " just to win. And I..I can't let you do that. Can't be the weapon you use to annihilate the world."

"Is it the world you can't stand to annihilate…or your brother Sam? Isn't this just fear talking Dean?" Zachariah goaded.

"I am afraid, you got me there," Dean surprisingly confessed before his eyes turned opaque with determination. "But I'm going to stop the devil..and you. And if that means killing my brother…" he shrugged but it looked painful and tight instead of carefree, "I gotta do what I gotta do."

"You can't be serious! Talk about inflated ego! You're just a man, Dean. You're nobody's hero. You're just…"

"Sam's brother. And if anyone's gonna stop him…put him out of his misery..it's gonna be me," Dean lowly vowed. "So tell Michael to enjoy sitting on the bench because he's not joining this fight."

Zachariah's face blanched with hatred and he stalked for Dean but before he could reach him, Dean pulled out a vial from his pocket and threw it at Zachariah. Even as the glass broke against Zac's chest, Dean flicked his lighter to life and tossed it at the angel, took a step back as Zachariah was engulfed in fire from the holy oil.

Transfixed, not only by the sight of the burning angel but of the revelations about Sam, Dean didn't move, not until Cas grabbed him, physically tugged him toward the door, prompted him into a run.

Knowing that Zachariah would flicker back to heaven soon and then come for them with a vengeance, come for Dean, Cas was practically dragging Dean behind him. Roughly shoving Dean down an alley, Cas propelled them both forward, around abandoned cars and trash toward another street. Would keep running as long as they both could because Cas refused to let his friend be anywhere that Zachariah could find him.

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So they ran. Almost blindly but they ran, side by side. Erstwhile angel and human ran for their lives, until the human's endurance was spent, until his steps become stumbles, until Cas' arm around his waist was the only thing keeping Dean upright, moving. Then even the ex-angel's stamina faltered, Cas' bad leg crumbled under him, sent him and Dean careening off into an alley wall and down to their knees, the angel breathing hard, the human gasping for air.

And when Dean put his trembling hand against Cas' chest, applied the pressure he could, which was merely a weak feeble strength, Cas released Dean, knew what the man wished even if he couldn't verbalize it or enforce it. Cas watched in pain as Dean collapsed away from him, against the wall, into his own head space.

Pulling his knees up and his arms over his bowed head, Dean willed the world to go away, for Zachariah's words to not echo in his head, for it all to be some heavenly scheme, some lie told to scare him, to demoralize him, to gut him from navel to sternum, to break him with no hope tor him to ever be put back together again. Didn't even know he was keening until Cas touched him, brought him back to the here and now, reached for him before he was over the edge and couldn't find his way back, even if he wanted to.

Watching Dean curled into the defeated position had hurt Cas but he could endure it. But the sound of utter heartbreak, of loss too great to handle, of the low hum of a scream barely held in emitted from his friend, that was too much for Cas to bear. Had his own eyes welling, his usually steady hand trembling as it sought out Dean's huddled form, touched the crown of the bowed head, ached to undo the devastation Zachariah's revelation had seared into Dean's soul.

Then, when Dean stopped the keening, didn't flinch away from his touch, Cas moved closer, let Dean's bowed head rest against his sternum. Almost missed the choked word of "Why?"

Why would Sam say yes, why would he betray the world…why would Sam betray his brother, the one that Cas knew he loved unconditionally. '_He wouldn't. He would know that if he said yes, he might have to fight Dean in Michael's body, might end up killing Dean with his decision. He couldn't…he just couldn't.' _And Cas clung to that hope, that certainty in Sam's love for Dean. "Hey, look at me," and he pulled back, put his hand under Dean's chin and tugged the man's tear stained face up until their eyes met. "Zachariah…he lies to get what he wants, you know that. This could….might be another lie. Dean, don't…"

'_Don't let this destroy you, don't break apart, don't leave me all alone_,' Cas selfishly thought before he continued, "Just…don't trust him blindly. Ok. Like he said, we need to get it from another source, other hunters might know. Just…keep some faith," Cas entreated, wanted to give Dean something to hang onto, to believe in, to hope for.

But Dean shook his head. "But Cas…if he did..if Sam said yes…" Dean broke a little there, hung his head and Cas let him take his moment, would give him whatever leniency he needed, would offer him his full strength. When Dean's head rose again, his expression was cold, set, dead inside. "Getting The Colt…it won't be about killing the devil… it'll be me…"

'_Killing my own brother_,' Cas silently finished the sentence Dean couldn't. And he prayed to a God he didn't know if he believed in anymore for that to not be Dean Winchester's fate. Because if that was the future Dean was headed for, Cas didn't think there would be much of his friend's soul left. Not if saving the world meant Dean had to murder the brother he loved more than his own soul.

And Cas didn't have any words to make that better, any justifications that would ease that decision, not until he thought of Sam, of what Sam would want, of what Sam would do for his brother, might have done for his brother. "If Sam said yes…he would have faith that you would stop him, would save him. That you'd right his wrongs." '_Even if it cost you your soul all over again_.' And part of Cas hated Sam Winchester in that moment even as he knew that if Sam had said yes, he had done it for Dean, had thought that he was somehow sparing his brother, that he had made a pact with the devil, not to save the world, but to save his brother.

'_Lord, if You're listening, watching, stop this please, God. Stop this before these two good men defile their souls and shatter their brotherhood to right our wrongs_.' But Cas heard nothing back, had to use his own strength to pull Dean to his feet, use his own determination to help the man escape heaven's cruel manipulations, was faced with the prospect of watching his friend save the world and lose the last tendril of hope in his soul in one fell swoop.

But he would do it all, would face even that for the man in his hold. Because his 'I gripped you tight and raised you from perdition' had become his motto. And he was determined it be his first and last decree. That whatever hell Dean faced, he would be there at his side, catching him when he fell and doing his best to save him. Even if being saved was the last thing Dean would want at the end of all this.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	8. Chapter 8: What Ifs

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 8: What Ifs

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Cas knows how much Dean loves his brother, had had a ring side seat to the cost of that love. So he's sure it's going to come: Dean's breakdown. Dean's raging against Sam's choice, against the roles they were picked to play. Dean on the verge of giving in, giving up, of saying his own "Big Yes".

So he watches him, tries to predict the moment when Dean comes apart, when it's too much, knowing Sam's betrayed everything and everyone by saying yes. Knows Dean's depreciatively and calm utterance of "Well, I guess that decides it. Even if I wanted to be the weak link, give in, I can't now," isn't going to be the last word on the subject.

And yet…it is.

Dean doesn't mention it, goes on with life as normal here in the end of times. Like his heart's not been set on fire, his faith hasn't been soiled, his love seemingly rejected.

But nothing hurtful ever stays buried.

It's a game, some lame way to pass the time. Was Cas's idea and he's kicking himself for it now. Seemed harmless enough, word association, talk about what you'd do if the apocalypse ended that very second. Stuff of what-ifs. But when the newest recruit talked about his brother, that if it were all over, he'd scourge the country for his brother, Cas knows there's nothing harmless about what-ifs.

Looks to Dean immediately, sees the clench in Dean's jaw, watches as their "fearless leader" slowly gets off the floor, shakes off Cas' hand when it reaches for him. No one even takes much notice of Dean's restrained departure, just him…and Chuck, the only two people in the camp who even know Dean has a brother, let alone what that brother's done.

It just takes Chuck's worried glance for Cas' suppression of his own concern to bubble over and his departure isn't as controlled as Dean, is more frantic and causes a stir and silence to fall. Cas hears Chuck's voice putting the group back to the game at hand, to ignore the fact that two of their number have vacated the premises with some haste.

Dean's caught up in memories, memories of the times when he was lost or Sam was, when they moved heaven and earth to find each other. Sam found him when he was about to be Scarecrowed, he found Sam when the Benders took him. Even when they didn't want the other to find them, didn't want the darkest parts of themselves jerked into the light: him when was torturing Alistair, Sam when he was slumming it with Ruby.

They found each other, saved each other, that's just what they did….or had done. '_But that's never happening again_.' Because the time for him to shelf his pride and find Sam…was over now, snatched away, decided away. This was the new world order and when he found Sam…it wouldn't be to rescue him, it would be to kill him.

He senses the presence behind him a second before Cas speaks. "Dean, we don't know for sure that Sam said yes."

Spinning, Dean slams Cas against the nearest tree, hissing menacingly into his face. "Don't talk about him! Don't say his name! Ever! Ever!" Then he shoves away, leaves a shaken Cas behind.

And another memory hits Dean, this one very old, of shouting nearly the same words to Sam about their mother. Of storming out of the motel room, leaving his nine year old brother stunned and alone. And how did Sam pay him back for his hissy fit…he gave him the friggin' amulet. Returned his cruelty with kindness.

It's almost inconceivable to imagine that kid, _his_ Sam agreeing to be evil incarnate, to be the final straw that decimated the world. To break his big brother's heart with just the utterance of one small word: Yes.

'_He did and the sooner you get that through your head, the better. Because it's not changing, he can't change, he made his decision…and now your choice is clear. You have to kill him or die trying.' _It isn't a proud moment, isn't a true warrior's mindset that the '_die trying' _part appeals to him the most.

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It's dark by the time he gives up his restless walk around the camp, enters his cabin. One step in and he pulls his gun, spins on his heel and nearly shoots Chuck in the head.

"Whoa, whoa! I'm a friendly! I'm a friendly!" Chuck hurriedly shouts, hands raised as he steps from the dark corner into the light offered by the moon.

Lowering his gun, Dean exclaims, "Crap, I almost killed you. You do know we're in the middle of the friggin' war to end all wars, that sneaking into people's rooms can get you dead."

"I do now," Chuck undertones, letting his hands fall to his side.

"What do you want? Let me guess, you want us to scout around for hand sanitizers tomorrow, no…steak. Why not world peace while you're asking for the impossible," Dean caustically teases his quartermaster.

Ignoring Dean's snit, Chuck says what he came there to say. "Whatever he did…or didn't do…it was for you."

Dean does a slow boil, knows Chuck's talking about Sam, Sam's choice. "You want to walk away, right now," his tone quiet but as deadly as they come.

Chuck isn't a fool, understands that he is risking bodily harmed and yet, he can't leave, can't let Dean think the worst of his brother. "When you first met me, when Sam was willing to go up against Lilith in that motel room…he was doing it for you."

Pointing a finger at Chuck, Dean snarls, "You don't have any archangels protecting you anymore so shut up!"

Throwing caution to the wind, Chuck steps toward Dean instead of away from him. "He said you always protected him, that it was time he protected you. Every time he risked his life….I mean, really, _really _risked it, heart and soul…it always was to save you."

Dean drew a sharp inhale because Chuck would know, had insight into them, their thoughts, his and Sam's, too much insight. Would know Sam's thoughts when he hooked up with Ruby, drank her blood, went after Lilith for revenge.. '_for what was done to me_.' And if it's the truth, that Sam might have said the 'Big Yes' out of some notion of protecting him…even after he had left him, forsook him, it cripples Dean. "What am I supposed to do with that, Chuck?" he hoarsely poses, because if it's true, it makes everything so much worse, what Sam did, what he'll have to do to Sam in the end.

And that is the question of the hour, what Chuck doesn't know and he says as much. "I don't know…just…wherever he is, whatever he is, there's a part of him missing you too." That he unquestioningly knows. Reaching out, he gives Dean's shoulder a reassuring squeeze before he leaves the man to his solitude.

Dean's not sure if he wants to threw something or cry, ends up digging a worn picture from the bottom of his duffle bag, stares at it a long time…before he sits it on the window still, the window he looks out of every morning as he brushes his teeth, readies himself for another day of hell on earth.

Wonders if there's still some part of Sam that would find it funny or annoying that he's hung onto a mocked up ID of his, the one that claims Sam's a "Panty Inspector" and has a picture of Sam sporting his lawyer expression, the one where he's trying to be so serious and just looks like he's lining up for a mug shot. But it's a good memory, Sam realizing he's claiming to be from the CDC while he's unknowingly been flashing a gag ID that Dean bought at a souvenir shop in Wildwood and slapped Sam's picture on. Course, Sam gave him that exasperated look, used that high annoyed tone…was the kid brother Dean loved more than life.

Suddenly, Dean breaks his own rule. "Sammy," comes out of him as an affectionate, desolate sob as he wishes his brother was there with him, that he was with Sam, that wherever they were, they were together.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Ok, there's not a lot of happy thoughts going on in the camp at the moment..or the foreseeable future. With the circumstances surrounding Dean, it's no wonder. I just hope my fast posting helps you all decide to stick with the story though. My plan is to have most or all of the story posted before the end of this month unless people really lose interest, then I might decide to just skip some chapters and wrap things up even sooner. Honestly, I am hoping that doesn't happen because I'm kinda attached to this little AU world I have going on here.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W


	9. Chapter 9: Relics

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 9: Relics

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They have a visitor in their midst, rumor is he used to be a hunter. And Cas wants him gone. He's never really warmed up to hunters, not when some of the ones that have crossed their paths over the years treated Dean with contempt. Even if they didn't know the whole story, they knew enough. And that was a reason to not make him welcome too, the fact that he might mention Sam. Dean would shut him up if he even said Sam's name or worse. But what if this hunter liked to talk, to talk about Dean, about Sam, in their camp, told the others what Dean never talked about: Sam, seals, hell, his dead mother and father.

Only he and Chuck knew all Dean had gone through, and they weren't talking. Chuck soon realized that if Dean didn't kill him to shut him up, Cas would. Cas wanted Dean to have this clean slate…at least with the handful of people in their camp who saw him as their savior.

So yeah, the hunter was not staying. Cas would give him a loaded rifle, a loaf of bread and even a roll of toilet paper and send him packing, maybe with a unveiled threat of what he would do if he saw him again. But as Cas approaches the perimeter, he sees that Dean is way ahead of him, is already walking their visitor to the exit. Watches as the two men exchange some last words and then the hunter walks away, walks out the gate and doesn't look back.

And Cas would have exhaled in relief…if he wasn't transfixed on Dean, didn't see his best friend grab onto the chain link fence like it is a crutch to keep him on his feet. Then Dean bows at his waist and clamps his eyes shut like he's fighting to not scream. Afraid, Cas breaks into a run, slides on the wet leaves as he nears Dean, hands grabbing for Dean's shoulder and waist, as he worriedly calls out, "Dean?!"

But it's like his touch is a livewire, has Dean jerking to his full height and pushing him away from him. Dean's breath is heaving and his eyes wouldn't meet Cas'. Though it has been a long time since Dean had to reprimand him about personal space, Cas feels that distance isn't good right now, that sometimes Dean wants distance for all the wrong reasons, so he can hurt in solitude. And Cas feels this is one of those times. So he steps back into Dean's space, but doesn't touch, won't push Dean that hard. "What did he say, Dean?" Because that's the only anomaly here, their visitor, and if that hunter mentioned Sam, condemned Dean for all this Croatoan crap, Cas will jump in his truck and run him down.

"He had news from another state," Dean's voice isn't right, is tight and cold and cutoff.

"What news?" even as Cas wonders how bad could it be, they were already nearly run over by croats in 40 of the states.

Raising his eyes to meet Cas', Dean emotionlessly said, "Bobby's dead," and then he pushed by Cas, left the angel struggling to handle his own reaction and terrified of Dean's.

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The Impala's sputtering as it crosses through the camp's gate, gives a last belch of smoke before the engine cuts out. And Cas is fully prepared for Dean to pop the trunk, to lovingly nurture the engine back to life, has seen Dean do the impossible, use leftover parts and makeshift parts to heal the machine like Cas could once heal a human. But Dean doesn't get out of the car, doesn't reach down and pull the hood release, just sits there, hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly they're white.

Instinctively, Cas knows Dean's inaction isn't about the car's failure, is about something worse than a machine breaking, is about a man breaking, of too many hurts inflicted and not enough balms applied. "Dean…" his voice quiet, concerned.

And Dean hates it, Cas' concern, the ex-angel's compassion, Cas' clear worry that he's going to shatter apart. He flings open the door, surges out of the Impala, doesn't bother shutting the door, crosses to the trunk, unlocks it and starts pulling everything out, carelessly throwing all of it on the ground. A few unconventional weapons, his father's journal, a dream catcher, spell box, a fire and smoke stained box of photos. Every last piece is hauled from its sanctuary and discarded to the ground, spilling open, getting muddy, chipping, the clash of mental on mental.

When the trunk's completely empty, Dean doesn't even bother to close it. Bends down, hand shoving through the once treasured items, only choses the bag of hoodoo to salvage because you never knew when a spell would come in handy. Then he's standing, walking away, doesn't give a crap that it's starting to rain, that the precious interior of the Impala's about to get a soaking.

Cas is almost too stunned to grasp what it all signifies, climbs from the Impala when Dean's rummaging through the trunk, stands there, afraid when Dean lets the things he loves, that he kept secret and safe in the Impala for three years, rejected on the ground. Cas retrieves the journal, Dean's family's version of the old testament Proverbs, and a picture that's already muddy at the edges and jogs to catch up to Dean.

"Dean, what…." Grabbing Dean's arm, trying to stop the man's head long pace. But Dean yanks his arm free, and stalks forward. "You'll regret discarding this," Cas offers, running a few steps to get in front of Dean.. He holds out the journal to Dean but Dean doesn't move to take it in hand, looks at Cas like he's a child, can't see what's happening.

"It's just a short sighted man's crude drawings and scribbling, Cas. Doesn't do us jack now, barely did us jack at all. Didn't _save_ us," Dean resentfully passed judgment, on the journal's contents and the man who wrote them. But when he goes to move around Cas, Cas sidesteps into his path.

"Dean, I know…losing Bobby…." Compassionately starts but Dean doesn't want kindness, rebukes it and the angel offering it.

"What, Cas?! You gonna give me some speech how I couldn't have saved Bobby, stopped Sam, prevented all of this?" And there's fury there, but not for Cas, for himself, always for himself.

"You did what you thought was right," Cas' conviction unwavering in the man and the choices he has made.

Dean snorts at the ex-angel's naivety and gives a harsh, soul decimating laugh. "Right?! Yeah, 'cause this is turning out so much better than me just saying yes to Michael."

"Dean, you knew the outcome if you did…." But Dean doesn't let him finish.

"Like the people that I love would die?! That the world's population would go feral? You would lose everything!" Dean's shouting now, is standing there in the rain, shouting at the last family member he has left in the world.

Cas doesn't shout back, instead says softly and earnestly, "You're wrong, Dean. I haven't lost everything. And neither have you." Holding Dean's gaze, Cas doesn't move, will stand there, will say it all over again and again until Dean gets it. Until Dean accepts that what they still have is each other, their friendship, their bond, that there's still something to cling to. Again he holds the journal and the picture out to Dean, as lifelines, to say the past is still to be treasured.

Sighing, Dean takes both items in hand, lets the rain drip from his hair onto the picture and the journal as his eyes drift from one to the other, as if there's a choice to be made. And he makes it, lets the journal tumble from his hands and tucks the picture of his mother, long dead but seemingly so alive in the photo, into his interior jacket pocket. Then he starts walking for the cabin, stops when he realizes he's alone, looks back to Cas, waits until the ex-angel gets it, that he's invited, is welcome. Always.

Smiling even as he's drenched to the bone now, Cas sloshes forward in the mud, gains Dean's side and together they meander for the shelter of the kitchen. They leave the Impala behind, a painful and useless relic of the past, not just Dean's, but Sam's and John and Mary Winchester's. A past that killed them all, one way or another.

And for the first time, Dean gets it, knows that, there is no future in the dead. He can't resurrect them, avenge them or forgive them. All he can do is remember, them, that he loved them and maybe, once upon a time, they even loved him back.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing! And I'm so touched by those of you who are encouraging me to keep posting, to not skip chapters! Your wish is my command!

Have a great day!

Cheryl w.


	10. Chapter 10: Higher Ground

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 10: Higher Ground

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There were supposed to be mindless zombies, their only ambition in life to make more zombies. They were not supposed to be friggin' special forces zombies who were snipers and take strategies from "The Art Of War". '_Yeah and they aren't supposed to out think my plan_!' Dean railed as he tried to press himself further into the dirt as sniper fire spit up the ground inches from his head. "Ouch!" he exclaimed as a bullet nicked his hand, causing him to pull it tighter to his wish-I-was-a-groundhog position.

One sniper on the hill picking off anyone approaching from the plains toward the city, that was as complicated as the situation was to get. His solution? Circle around and take out the sniper. Easy enough…if the sniper wasn't a whole sniper squad, perched up on the high ground, taking turns with the high powered rifle. Course that didn't mean the others were weaponless. '_No, what fun would that be_,' Dean bitterly thought, recognized the sound of a military M-16 pinning him down. Knew that, if he popped his head up, they would blow his brains out.

And if that wasn't bad enough, a grenade landed in the underbrush beside him.

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Hunkered down on the west side of the hill, undetected and safe, Cas and his band of two, brothers, Gabe & Scott Kendall, obediently held their positions, waited for Dean's signal to join the fray. Well, the two of the three waited obediently, Cas was only still rooted to the spot because Gabe tackled him when he made to clamor to the top of the hill when the racket of gunfire, far too much for the lone sniper Dean's group expected to encounter, shattered the morning solitude.

"Wait for Dean's signal," Gabe had hissed in Cas' ear, pinning the formal angel to the ground.

"He might not be alive to signal!" Cas growled back, hated that the former Navy Seals' strength overrode his meager human struggle, kept him from going to his friend's aid.

"And if he's not dead, he'll rip you a new one for disobeying his orders!" Gabe countered, knew that even the toughest of his former Navy commanders had nothing over a dressing down by Dean Winchester when someone didn't toe the line he drew in the sand. But Cas still fought to be free and he knew orders, objectives and a dressing down didn't mean a thing to the ex-angel, not when his best friend was in jeopardy. Roughly rolling Cas over, he slammed Cas' back onto the ground and pressed his forearm under the man's chin. "It's daylight, so we can't move forward and we can't move back. But he's got a plan, Cas. He's always got a plan. You wanna screw it up, wanna be the one who gets him killed?!" He could read the grim answer in the blue eyes, as if Cas had been that person before, carried that weight with him already, would do anything, anything to not be that person again.

Withdrawing his arm, Gabe patted Cas on the chest. "We wait for his signal, then we go like attack dogs, ok?"

"Yeah," Cas quietly agreed, didn't voice what was running through his head, wouldn't undermine Dean's command like that, wouldn't tell Gabe that, sure, Dean always had a plan…but more than a few of those plans ended with Dean surviving only by the grace of God. Could rattle off ten in his head without thought. So "Dean's got a plan," it wasn't the best pep speech he had ever heard. But the other part, about being the one that got Dean killed, that one gutted him. Because with his new human status, it seemed the odds were increased that he would do something or not do something and lose Dean.

So he rolled over and waited, his ears aching to hear Dean's voice above the gunfire, to sense something in his being that told him Dean wasn't already dead, to be reassured that, staying put was the right thing to do, that Dean hadn't done the one thing he would never forgive him for doing: leave him for good.

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"Grenade!" Dean shouted even as he rolled away, covered his head with his arms, felt the compression of the explosion jolt the ground and the rumble mute his hearing. Hoped that his four guys, Althouse, Dell, Haltman and Trask, who had been positioned by him had gotten clear of the shrapnel radius too because he couldn't see much, not with smoke billowing in the air from some smoke canister.

It was like they were doing a reenactment of Little Big Top and he and his merry band were the Confederates, doomed to lose. But he had started this mess and there didn't seem to be a way to retreat, not unless they wanted to get picked off while they ran away. Because they might have snuck up the mountain in near darkness, before the sun came up. Now it was dawn and the sun was outting them like a spotlight. So there they were, hunkered down on the hill, bullets, and now grenades, raining down on them, making it suicidal to try to advance forward or retreat.

Stalemate of a sort…except there were cries of pain and Dean knew the croats didn't react to pain, kept on coming if you blew off their arms. So the cries, they were humans, soldiers, _his soldiers_, the people that trusted him, thought he had a clue how to set the world back on course. They were dying because of him. Because they believed in him.

And more would die the longer he huddled there, let the friggin' croats continue to pick off his people, to keep the high ground, acted like a newbie soldier instead of a leader. '_Crap, it's not like I expected to live even this long_.' Shouting to be heard above the din of gunfire, he commanded, "Roadrunner on my signal!" Hoped like heck they all remembered roadrunner was code for…retreat…AKA run for your friggin' life because this was one battle they couldn't win. Not today, with the odds so much not in their favor.

Gearing himself up to do what he had to, he steadied his breathing, waited for the smallest break in gun fire, tried not to think what Sam would say about his plan, to think about his brother at all because that was just a road of hurt. Then there was a minuscule lull of fire coming at him, was his moment if he'd ever get one. So with an unholy scream of "Go!", gun and knife in hand, he pushed to his feet, went on the offensive, for most likely the last time ever.

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Cas jerked when Dean's voice interjected the gunfire, almost more than at the concussion of a grenade that started a mini land slide that had him dodging left to avoid getting cracked in the head with a boulder that came rolling down the mountain. Heart pounding, breathing loudly, he waited, one hand tightened around the gun in his hand while the other held onto the underbrush as if holding himself from sliding down the hill…or stopping him from surging to his feet and going to the ground zero of the grenade.

When he thought he couldn't stand it any longer, had to move, had to crest the hill, had to lock eyes on Dean, his friend's voice echoed across the landscape. "Roadrunner on my signal!" And Cas was certain, even if he were still on Heaven's payroll, he would have cursed at his friend's command. He knew it for what it was: a sure sign that his friend was about to do something illogically suicidal. Because Dean Winchester might value lives that were not his own, might order others to retreat, but would never willingly retreat himself, not if it would get someone else killed.

Looking down at Gabe and Scott positioned on the incline below him, he hissed, "Elmer Fudd on his signal" feeling a bit foolish, not in countermanding Dean's order but on referencing what he had come to know as a cartoon character.

It was Gabe's younger brother, Scott who protested, "Attack?! Are you crazy?! Dean's…."

But Dean's "Go!" cut off Scott, put a shiver down Cas' spine and Cas knew he wasn't wrong. Because Dean's tone…it was the tone his friend used when he was making a last stand and didn't expect to see another day. Without waiting to see if the two brothers would disobey Dean and follow him instead, Cas dug his boots into the gravel underfoot and scrambled up the hill. After all, he had made his choice already, a couple times over. He would follow the man who had turned down a safe place in heaven for the slim hope to save mankind as long as his borrowed body still had breath in it.

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They didn't expect it, his kamikaze charge. Was probably why Dean was able to take out three of them before they zeroed in on him. Each of his bullets found its mark like the skilled hunter he was, ensuring those he shot were down for the count. Instead of seeking cover, he increased his forward plunge, drew his knife across the carotid artery of the closest croat as he pulled her close, didn't flinch when her body was riddled with bullets meant for him. Shot two more croats from behind that protection before her body was all dead weight, too heavy to hang on to. Letting her drop, he dropped too, rolled right, came up shooting another two, unmindful of the rounds eating up the ground he had been in moments before, ignored the shots kicking up dirt by his foot.

Swinging his gun to his far left, he shot the croat whose rifle sights were on him. But even as he did, the hair on the back of his neck was standing up, telling him that he had missed something, something vital. And then he sensed something, coming for him, not from higher ground but from behind him. Dropping onto his back, he rounded his gun to his target: a muscle bound croat towering over him, blotting out the sun, his rifle muzzle leveled at his head, as if he wanted the kill to be up close and personal. But Dean beat the croat to the punchline, unleased a bullet into his skull.

Which only made the hulking croat smile.

As the bullet hole in the man's forehead closed up, Dean muttered, "Oh crap, you're not a poser, are you?" knew that this wasn't some infected human, that this was the genuine article, one of hell's children. Batting the riffle muzzle out of his face, he surged upright, intent on plunging Ruby's knife into the hulk's chest.

But the Hulk caught his hand, halted the knife inches from its destination, crushed the fragile wrist in his grip until the knife dropped harmlessly onto the ground.

"Dean Winchester, you finally got the balls to crawl out of whatever hole you've been cowering in," the hulking figure drawled, smiling, showing black teeth and even blacker eyes. "I'll tell your brother goodbye for you."

And at the mention of Sam, every rational thought flew from Dean's head, every instinct to fight faded away. He could only think, '_Is there a Sam left to tell I'm dead? Is he still in his body somewhere? Does some part of my brother still exist?'_

As if reading his thoughts, the hulk chuckled, grabbed Dean by the throat and hauled him to his feet."You're such a sap. Your little brother's not even a memory. He burned out like a candle in a gale wind the second he said 'yes'."

It was what Dean knew, but hadn't wanted to accept. Because to fully acknowledge Sam's fate…was to acknowledge the hopelessness of his own. It barely registered with him that the hand around his throat was cutting off his air, intended to crumble his windpipe. But he didn't fight it, figured he might as well get his fate over with.

Gunfire, not from a rifle but a .45 peppered the hulk's back. And over his shoulder, Dean could see Haltman and Dell, who he had ordered to retreat coming up the hill. "No!" he croaked out, hands trying to uncoil the hulk's grip on his throat, to get out a real warning, to let them know this wasn't a croat they were up against. But he couldn't budge the fingers, watched in horror as Haltman and Dell, his two soldiers, his two friends emptied their clips in the hulk before going in for a close quarters battle of fists and kicks.

It didn't last long. Seconds really. Dean would have screamed in grief and rage as the hulk broke Dell's neck and ripped Haltman's heart from his chest, if he could draw breath. If blackness wasn't edging his vision. But the grief, the rage restored his will to fight, to kill, to not die and take the easy way out. His first exhale was a cough but his next exhale formed a word, a Latin word, then more, all starting to lead up to an exorcism.

The hulk faltered under the Latin, lost some of his grip and it was enough. Bringing his forearm down on the hulk's hand, Dean broke his hold on him. Released, he fell, couldn't keep his feet as he hit the ground and ended up crashing onto his back, knocking what little breathe had out of him. Could just lie there, was almost too oxygen deprived to do more than just cling to consciousness. Almost. But his numb fingers blindly searched for the lost knife.

Rolling his head to the right to try and visually locate his weapon, the last of Dean's breath ripped right out of him at the sight of Cas charging for them, for the croat that wasn't a croat. Cas who wasn't an angel anymore, couldn't meet the hulk's strength on even ground anymore, was just a human, as human as the men who lay broken and dead on the ground beside Dean. "Cas no, He's not…" Before he got a chance to complete his warning, Cas crashed into the hulk like a linebacker, and to Dean's surprise, his momentum knocked the hulk off his feet, sent them both crashing to the ground beside him.

It was anything but a fair fight. The hulk slammed Cas into the ground like he was a rag doll, a doll he despised, dazing the ex-angel but Cas still struck out, delivered a punch to the hulk's cheek, followed by a knee to the groin. Neither blow doing much to even distract the hulk, let alone hurt him. The hulk's big hands closed around Cas' throat and squeezed.

Suddenly, Dean knew with sick certainty that this was it, the day he had dreaded. The day that he got Cas killed, really killed. No return trips, no miraculous resurrections, just dead, just gone. Never coming back. It was terrifying enough of a thought to give him the strength to slip an elbow under him, to lever himself half off the ground, to search in earnest for the knife even as he started the exorcism spell over again from the top.

And that managed to snag him what he wanted: the hulk's sole attention in the form of a well placed chop of his hand to Dean's throat, causing Dean to gag and wonder if his voice was gone forever. But when he fell silent, Cas took up the spell, was the hulk's target once again. And the hulk returned his favor with relish, seemed intent to reach into Cas's chest and rip his heart out like he had Dean's other soldier's.

Muted and unable to find the knife, Dean looked around for another weapon, found one of the croats he had ganked lying nearby, a grenade clipped to his belt. Shuffling forward, Dean yanked the grenade free, met Cas's eyes a moment before he pulled the pin on the grenade…and shoved it down the hulk's pants.

Distracted by whatever just went down his pants, hulk started to swing around and Cas took that opportunity to clasp his hands together and put all his weight behind the swing that landed on his adversary's face, causing the hulk to lose his balance. Dean took that moment to deliver a kick to the hulk's chest, sending him tumbling backwards down the incline. "Down!" he warned as he threw himself to the ground, hands and arms half covering Cas' head and his own.

The ground vibrated with the explosion twenty seconds later.

"Now we roadrunner it out of here," Cas murmured as he pushed himself upright, latched onto Dean's arm and started to lever his leader to his feet. Wasn't all that surprised when Dean stubbornly pushed his supportive hand away, swayed on his feet but kept upright. "Gabe and Scott are keeping them pinned down but they can't hold them for long," he announced, was worried and wasn't afraid to show it.

"Althouse?"

Gritting his jaw in reaction, Cas lowly said, "He retreated, just like you commanded him to," his angry judgment unmasked.

""Least someone remembers I'm the friggin' leader of this ragtag army," he grumbled, though his voice was barely breaking the sound barrier after the hulk's blow to his vocal cord, making him sound anything but strong. He tried to put a little more force into his "Let's go". Planning to head down the ridge, circle around and join the Kendall brothers to make their retreat together. But his eyes drifted to the two men broken on the ground at his feet and the one down the slope, Trask's body nearly unrecognizable after the grenade was done with him. Men who had been his friends, who had disobeyed his orders to save themselves and tried to save him. '_And look where that's gotten them._'

Then he left them behind, walked away. When his remaining team made their strategic retreat, Dean didn't look back. Knew there was nothing there for him, not in the past. The future was all he had.

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"Why did you disobey my order?" the question was quiet but Cas didn't miss the menacing edge in Dean's voice.

From the Jeep's driver's seat, Gabe started to lie, "We didn't hear…"

"I told them to," Cas unashamedly confessed, watching Dean's profile, seeing the clench in his friend's jaw.

"Haltman and Dell too?" Men who died in their little FUBAR (fudged-up-beyond-all-recognition) mission. Men who probably would have survived, like Althouse, who was manning the other jeep, had…if they had retreated, if they hadn't come for him, hadn't tried to go up against something they weren't prepared for.

And leave it up to Dean to ask all the questions Cas didn't want to satisfy. But Cas answered anyway, because he had called out to the three men as they started to slide and scale and slip down the mountain, had stopped …no, _ordered _them to turn around, to go back to Dean's side. Haltman and Dell obeyed him…and lost their lives. But Cas couldn't find it in himself to regret his actions. The two men had bought Dean time, time for Cas to get there, to stop Dean from getting killed outright. And Cas wasn't going to apologize for that. Couldn't. Because he wouldn't mean it. Not even a little. And lying to Dean…he wasn't going to do that either. Had done it enough under the orders of Heaven, had seen the way Sam's lies had cut into Dean's heart. No. He couldn't take that path. Not if he wanted Dean to trust him, to not banish him from his side like he had Sam.

"Yeah, Haltman and Dell too," Cas confirmed, his unrepentant eyes holding Dean's.

It was almost too bad that Sam wasn't there to tell Cas that Dean's silence….it never heralded anything good.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	11. Chapter 11: Benched

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 11: Benched

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To Dean's credit, he waited until they were somewhere private, back on the overgrown grass of their camp's outer perimeter, just him and Cas before he decked the formal angel, enjoyed the sight of Cas's bloody lip as the former angel looked up from his new position on the ground. But his satisfaction died a quick death at the look in Cas' eyes. Not fury…but worry. Holy Crap. What did it take to turn Cas away, to make the man run for the hills, save himself for once in his friggin' long life? Be selfish, get some self-preservation kicking in, to realize that getting as far away from Dean Winchester was a good idea.

"You're benched," Dean growled, his fury only surging more fiercely at Cas' hurt look. "You stay in the friggin' camp until I know I can trust you."

"Trust me? I saved your life, maybe you missed that."

But that was exactly the type of action that made him untrustworthy, risking his own life for him? When had that ever been a good idea. "What you did was disobey my orders! We lost three good soldiers because you moved from your position." He jammed his finger into Cas' chest. "Their blood is on your hands, not mine."

Though it wasn't true, the blood was his and Dean knew it, their deaths were his fault, if he hadn't led them into a firefight with superior forces, if he hadn't gotten himself pinned down, if he had trained them better.

But Cas didn't bother disputing it, accepted it if it meant Dean didn't take on the guilt of their deaths. "Yes, their deaths are on me. But at least yours isn't."

In that moment, Dean hated Cas' loyalty, because he knew how unworthy he was of it. Decided right then and there that he needed to break it, taint it. "I'd be in good company though, right? How many angels did you take out single handedly?" instilling contempt into his tone where none really existed. He knew why Cas had killed those angels…to save him, to save Sam. Which, then again, was a stupid act considering how things were turning out.

Stiffening at the disapproval, Cas stepped forward, blew by Dean's personal space bubble and growled into the man's face, "You know I killed them to save you."

Dean had the audacity to offer a smirk back in reply. "Yeah, and how's it feel to know you screwed the pooch right there, had a chance to change all this, avert the whole croatoan thing we got going on and you blew it."

"I don't consider you being alive as 'screwing the pooch'," Cas angrily volleyed back.

Dean took a step closer to Cas, almost crowded the ex-angel to take a step back but Cas wouldn't give Dean the satisfaction of intimidating him. "See, that's why Dell, Altman and Trask are dead right now. Because you can't face the facts that I'm just a grunt now, same as everyone out there," pointing to the camp buildings surrounding them, indicating the ragtag army he's patched together. "Me getting killed, heck, that would be the good news, only way to ensure I'll never say yes to Michael."

'_And if I wasn't so much of a coward, I would do myself, end the mystery right here, right now_.' But he couldn't. Hating himself for his weakness, he turned on his heels, stalked for his cabin, didn't get a chance to close the door because Cas was barreling in behind him. Roughly spinning him around, Cas delivered a roundhouse punch that had Dean nearly sprawling onto the table.

Eyes going wide when Cas pulled out his gun, Dean, for a fleeting moment, thought the ex-angel was going to take him up on his suggestion, plug him right between the eyes.

"If you want to kill yourself, I think we can spare a bullet," Cas caustically bit out, ejected a bullet from his gun and tossed it on the table. But as he left the cabin, walked away from his best friend, he was terrified that he'd hear a gunshot, that Dean would not take his challenge as it was meant: as a goad for Dean to keep on fighting, to live.

Reaching his own cabin, Cas shut the door….and crumbled to his knees, not to pray to a God that probably wasn't listening anymore but to give into his desolation. To cry for everything, everyone, for himself, and it was the first time he let himself do that, be human enough to break.

And it solved nothing.

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Dean wasn't stupid, knew Cas was trying to manipulate him, taunt him into manning up. That Cas believed he'd suggested the one thing he'd never do. Cursing, Dean overturned the table, kicked the nearest chair and punched the wall…before he slumped against it, head pressed to the uneven wood, eyes squeezed shut, body trembling.

He couldn't do it. Though some part of him knew he should, he couldn't kill himself. Too many people had died to keep him alive, too much still rested on his shoulders, he had too much to atone for to give himself an easy out. This was his mess and he had to clean it up or die bloody trying. There was no warming a bench, not for him. But Cas…Cas could stay safe…be safe. Would probably hate him for it but Dean could live with that. He already lived with the knowledge that Sam probably said yes out of hatred for him, for him breaking them up, denying Sam his forgiveness, for choosing solitude over brotherhood.

So yeah, Cas could hate him all he liked but Cas would stay here in camp, wouldn't go out there with him, wouldn't stupidly risk his life and the lives of any of member of their camp in some obsolete notion that he needed to be protected at all costs because he was going to save the world.

'_I couldn't even save three members of my group today.' _Somewhere down deep, he knew every member of the camp was probably doomed the second that they aligned themselves with him. '_Course, they would all realize that..if they knew they were putting their trust into the man who had started all this.'_ A man that had said his own yes in Hell. And no matter how many times he said no, it would never ever undo that.

So all he could do was try to end all of it. And his to-do list was pretty cut and dry:

1. Gank as many croats as he could

2. Find the Colt

3. Stop the devil

4. Kill his own brother

5. ~~~~~

# 5 didn't even need to be mentally listed. If he checked off #4, # 5 would come naturally. Because after that, there would be nothing in this life worth living for anyway.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the wonderful reviews on last chapter.

Have a great day!

Cheryl w.


	12. Chapter 12: Everyone Gets Left Behind

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 12: Everyone Gets Left behind

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The Marine's had it wrong, that crap about leave no man behind. Dean believed the opposite. Leave them all behind. If they complained and moaned, if they couldn't keep up, if they were stupid enough to get separated from the group, if they were unlucky enough to get hurt. Gone. In the rear view mirror. Forgotten.

Heck, once you've turned your back on your little brother, a brother you swore to always protect, abandoning everybody else? It was a cakewalk. He could do it without a morsel of guilt. Had given up a conscience a long time ago, it had done him no good anyway. Gave all that up when he gave up on Sam, the Impala…the notion that there was any hope left to hold onto. It was liberating really, made him wish he had done it years before, had told his Dad to go screw himself when he thought punching his twelve year old kid was ok since his wife got BBQed on the ceiling and hunting monsters ripped out the rest of his humanity.

Dean thinks that would have been a great day for him: Cussing out the mighty, righteous John Winchester, stowing his crap in a bag and heading out the door. And him leaving 9 year old Sam behind? To be raised by his father's version of parental care? Screw it. It was his fantasy and if he wanted to think he'd have the balls to do that back then, well then sure, why not. Live the dream, right. Get everything he friggin' wanted to.

If he had done that, maybe things wouldn't be like they were, maybe the world would be intact, maybe Lucy wouldn't be so close to reigning supreme. '_Maybe I'd be mowing my front yard right now, getting ready for a July 4__th__ picnic on my deck with some friends and some brews instead of hunkered down in some cold, decaying warehouse playing hide and seek with a legion of Croats_.'

He could almost hear Bobby's voice in his head: '_Wishes are like buttholes, everyone's got one._' And he hated that something logged in his throat, that he still had the capacity to feel a sharp loss when he thought of the older hunter, of a man he had loved like a father…and lost not so like his own. Moron had made himself a target, had given misleads to some high echelon hell minions to keep them away from finding out about the camp, from finding him. '_I didn't ask him to do that?!_' he wanted to scream, to rip Bobby from whatever hereafter he was in and punch him, curse at him for dying, for doing it for such a piss poor reason. He was no messiah, wasn't going to actually stop anything, had had his chance to do that and pissed it away. He had started all this crap…and he had no hope to made amends. Found it cruelly ironic that he was still alive, God knows he tried hard enough not to be.

Which turned his fury to another of his companion: Cas. '_Friggin' Cas isn't even an angel anymore and he's still thinking he's got to save the world.'_ But Dean knew that wasn't quite right….Cas had lost interest in this world's fate, of saving the general populace but one angelic edict he still stupidly clung to: protect the righteous man. As if that title wasn't the biggest joke in the world.

But Cas still had that mandate stuck in his head, must have because there was no other _good_ explanation for Cas to ignore his order, cause his other soldiers to ignore his order and make a suicidal rush toward him when a croat sniper team could easily pick them all off at a thousand yards. Was why Cas wasn't with him now, hadn't been out of the camp, on a mission, for two months. Punishment.

'_For being loyal to you_,' Dean's little voice piped up and he ruthlessly shut it down. Like he did all of Cas' attempts to make nice, to get reinstated on the active duty roster.

A croat barreling around the corner, rushing his position brought him back to his current situation, had him pulling the trigger dropping the deranged woman. But like any good horror story, there were more to take her place, five to be exact. A second one got a bullet to his head as Dean retreated back step after step, sighted on a third when he sensed his flank was about to be invaded. Kicked the sneaky croat teenage male in the chest that was trying to came at him from the right. Trouble was, his other sneaky older male companion kept on coming, seemed intent on body slamming into Dean, probably followed up with him on the ground, while they swapped blood.

Kinky wasn't Dean's thing lately which was why he ducked, rammed his shoulder into the guy's gut, tossed him over his shoulder and sent the croat crashing right through the window at Dean's back. Dean straightened his stance, just in time to stop a knife from slicing across his gut, grabbed the black male croat's wrist and fought to hold back the point of the knife from stabbing him, felt a small spike of pain as the croat's strength over matched his, achieved a victory enough to draw blood. Dean knew that blood sharing would be next on the croat's to-do list. Throwing a left uppercut at the croat, cutting the croat's future plan to the quick, gave Dean a moment to breathe. Until the two other croats, one male, one female, almost cockily approached him, thought they had their prey nice and cornered.

And Dean would have taken them on…if he didn't see behind them, that they were about to be joined by another seven of their monster friends. The odds were only going to get worse the longer he hesitated. "Sorry, I'm gonna pass on your offer of membership," he quirked to the nearest croat. "I couldn't respect myself if my fashion sense went to crap like all yours has."

Then he turned his back on them, took a few running steps and crashed through the remaining panes of the window. Numbly he felt the shards of glass knick him everywhere before he was free falling. But it wasn't his landing that he was thinking about …it was the last time he willingly jumped out of a three story building.

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_He and Sam shared a look, made a decision right then and there. It was either let Alistair gut them, him in particular, or take the fast way down to the ground._

_And Sam had done that, for him…with him._

_So with one final look of absolute trust, they moved as one, knowing death might be the outcome but they were doing it anyway. Felt somehow they could face anything…if they just did it side by side._

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Dean's fall ended abruptly, when he slammed into the edge of a burned out car's roof. But his momentum sent him tumbling off the car and impacting with the alleyway, hard enough to add another crack to the macadam. Then there was a burst of agony even as there's no air to pull from his chest. Still he made a move to push his hands under him, to get up …passed out cold mid-motion. And his last thought…it was the certainty that he was gonna wake up a croat, that the man being left behind this time…was him.

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He was more unconscious than conscious, that's why it happened, why he forlornly asked for the one person he never should have. Just knew, in that moment, that the voices speaking above him, they didn't include the one he was searching for. And he was about to utter that name again, ….when it hit him. Instantly, he achingly craved to fade back into unconsciousness, to die. Because Sam, his Sam was gone. _'He'll never be with me again_.'

That truth was painful enough to slice through his haze, to get him to recognize some of the voices, to remember what came before, that the people talking over him, about him, weren't croats Well, they weren't the last time he saw them anyway. Opening his eyes, he saw three of his soldiers, Pitt, Franklin and Zimmer, arguing above him.

"I say we put him down, now, before he wakes up and kills or infects us all." That was Zimmer for you, always the cold practical one.

And right on schedule came Pitt's heated reply. "You know we can't do that."

"And we can't take him home, not infected." Zimmer argued.

Then it was Franklin's turn, Franklin who was always slow to speak up but when he did, it was like the voice of reason had entered the building. "We don't know he's infected…but we do know what will happen if we go back without him."

Some other time, some other situation, the conversation would have been downright terrifying to hear, especially when he couldn't manage to stop blacking out, when he wasn't sure he could lift his hand, let alone strike out at his possible murderers. But he knew the facts, that he could be infected, that he was bleeding in a croatoan hot zone, that he had just went head to head with some croats, that the odds weren't in his favor, that the discussion being made over him, it wasn't cold hearted but it was unnecessary.

"I might be inflected, do me," Dean commanded, hated that his voice sounded like he was gargling glass, that he could only level a watery, half-masted glower at his men. Hated more that they looked down at him like they were surprised he was awake, could form words.

"I said do me!" he shouted, tried to lift his head off the pavement, nearly blacked out again for his efforts.

Pitt dared to crouch down beside him, get close. "No, we're not doing that. I don't think you…you're not hurt, you're ok."

"You don't know that. I'm bleeding. Did you even check me?!" Dean's frustration rising, couldn't believe these men weren't following protocol, his friggin' protocol.

Dutifully, Pitt patted him down, inspected the numerous cuts on Dean's body like he was squeamish. The man pulled his hands back when Dean barked, "Check me like you mean it!" But Pitt shook his head, halfheartedly pledged, "You're good."

"And you know that after that piss poor check?" Dean angrily challenged, pushing Pitt's returning hand away. "If you won't do me…walk away. I'll either go croat or I won't."

Then Franklin came into Dean's limited vision, looked down at him and announced, seemingly for the threesome. "We can't leave you behind."

"Yes, you can. I'm _ordering_ you to," Dean snarled, not touched by their loyalty but pissed at it. Didn't they know what they were risking?! Rolling his eyes as the three men don't reply, instead look at each other like teenage boys deciding if they were gonna confess to sneaking into the girl's gym lockers. "What, you need to take a friggin' vote?! The rules are simple: no croats in the camp. I might be infected, you can't take that chance!"

Zimmer, conceding to the wisdom of his friends, gave a disgusted shake of his head before he decreed for the threesome. "We can't go back without you."

Intending to beat them to death, Dean tried again to get up, only ended up able to prop his elbows on the macadam and lean against them. But it at least gave him a better position to hold his solder's eye contact, to convince them how things needed to go. "This isn't about loyalty, this is about survival. Yours, everyone you care about at camp."

"We are talking about our survival," Franklin stated like it was the gospel truth as he knew it.

Confused, Dean started with "What are…."

"Cas said he'd kill any patrol that ever came back without you," Pitt enlighted Dean.

Dean, too stunned to speak, to do little more than open his mouth, shut it and end up clenching his jaw. When Dean did speak, it wasn't gratitude oozing from his lethal hiss, "You're friggin' kidding me. He's one man, not even an angel anymore and you're wetting your pants what he thinks?!"

Franklin bristled at basically being called a coward. "Yeah, I'm scared of him! You really think Althouse got that beat up taking a tumble down the mountain on the retreat?! Cas beat the crap out of him for baling on you. If you had died…Althouse would have been toasted. Shoot, I wouldn't doubt Cas would have set the whole camp on fire and walked out."

Dean couldn't believe this, that he was working with such pansies, delusional pansies at that. "He's a formal _angel of the Lord_?! He only smites…"

"Anybody who's a threat to you…" Pitt provided the conclusion that stole the hard won breath right from Dean all over again.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	13. Chapter 13: Reputation

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 13: Reputation

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Cas is in bed, alone for a change. Well, _back in bed. _He had scampered to the window when he heard the engine of the returning vehicles, stood there by the window until he saw the unmistakable shadow of his best friend in the jeep. Inhaling a breath that nearly hurt, Cas had crawled into bed, but couldn't sleep, still felt the dying spark of angel mojo tingling along his spine of foreboding. '_But Dean's back and he seems to be in one piece_.'

He startles when there's a rap on his door, wonders if one of the women thinks he'll welcome a late night bootie call..which he won't. Not that night. So he opens the door and even without the help of a light source, he still knows the shadow in the dark is Dean.

"You alone?" Dean asks.

'_Very, since you banished me_.' Aloud Cas replies, "Yeah," as he steps back and Dean comes in. When Cas turns on a light, he sees Dean's holding a liquor bottle and two glasses but that's not what catches Cas' attention, it's the cuts on Dean's face, neck, arms and hands, the way the man's holding himself stiffly, like he's in pain.

Cas doesn't step closer to Dean, though he wants to. "You ok?" tries for unconcerned because lately his regard for Dean had a way of pissing his friend off.

Dean doesn't answer, just sloshes some liquor in both glasses and offers one to Cas, who's glad for the excuse to draw near Dean, get the chance to scrutinize his friend's wounds, gauge the level of pain wafting off the hunter. Though the wounds are scratches he senses Dean's pain isn't minimal, that his real injury isn't from what was bleeding. He says nothing, drinks in the silence while Dean watches him. Uncertain of the man's mood, Cas waits him out.

"Sam never drank with me," is Dean's unexpected ice breaker.

Cas heads snaps up from his drink, his eyes seeking Dean's because Sam is a taboo subject.

Dean's shaking his head, drawing on memories that make him smile a little instead of scowl, "Was always a light weight. He barely touched red meat. Always played the straight main to my jokes." The smile falls away from his face and he downs the remnants in his glass, pours himself a larger helping.

Cas' continued silence isn't strategy, is him wholly unknowing of what to say, what Dean wants him to say. But he'll eagerly listen to whatever Dean wants to talk about. Until Dean's eyes darken, until Dean declares, condemnation in his tone, "But he knew how to put the job first, when to cut me lose."

Stiffening, sensing a coming lecture about him saving Dean, Cas corrected testily, "He didn't cut you lose, you cut him loose." Is afraid he's about to get the same soul decimating treatment.

Anger doesn't reflect in Dean's expression, cold acceptance does. "He's the one who walked away…I just told him it would be best if we stayed apart. I didn't tell him to say yes…" he breaks off, can't rehash that. There's no use in it. After emptying his glass for a second time, he skewers Cas with his hot displeasure. "Point is, he always knew job number one was to _save people_, not cover our own butts."

And Cas wants to call bullcrap because he could tick off at least twenty instances where the brothers didn't follow that rule. But he knows what they are really talking about, and it's not about Dean and Sam. It's about him and Dean. About what he did to save Dean, about the deaths that came from it, about how unrepentant he is, how determined he is to continue to do whatever he has to do to keep Dean alive, not so Dean could kill the devil but because Dean is his friend. Cas says the only thing that comes to mind, "I'm not Sam," knows that's both the good news….and the bad. Heals Dean and hurts him in the same breath.

Cas' blunt statement has Dean startled into silence and he remembers, hours before, calling out for Sam, when his guard was down, when he was vulnerable, lost in his own head space, sought the reassuring presence of the person he knew could make everything alright. '_But Sam wasn't there….Cas was._' Or rather Cas' threat was there, hanging over his three soldiers' heads, making them take a chance that he wasn't infected, giving them real incentive to bring him home instead of killing him outright. In a nutshell, Cas' threat….had saved him.

And if it were Sam, if Sam had saved his life…Dean would have thanked him, not condemned him. How could he do anything less for Cas?

Putting his glass down on the table, he dug into his coat pocket, winces as his broken rib protests even the small jostling but he finds what he's looking for. He tosses the bullet to Cas, who deftly catches it. "Didn't use it, won't." Because he knows Cas would want to have that promise from him more than any words of gratitude.

Cas' hand fists tightly around the bullet, the bullet he had insolently given to Dean, like he's afraid Dean will want it back, will change his mind. "Never wanted you to,"Cas hoarsely confesses. "Last thing I want is you dead."

"Yeah, about that. We're trying to rally the troops, threatening to off them if I get wasted during their watch isn't the best way to earn loyalty, Cas," and Dean's voice is light instead of reprimanding. Decides that he's done being mad at Cas for giving a crap about him.

Cas chuckles and gives Dean a toothy smiles, knew that the cat would be out of the bag sooner or later. "I wasn't trying to earn their loyalty; I was trying to win back yours. Which, by the way, I can't do if you're dead."

"Wow, not very subtle, are you?" Dean retorts.

"You ignore subtleties. So tough day out there?" Cas finally gets to ask, nodding toward the scrapes on Dean's face and his friend's general look of misery. Knows that the dark foreboding that had clung to him since Dean left that morning without him wasn't for nothing, that something bad had transpired, bad enough that his threat of what would happen if anyone lost Dean, had come into play.

"Just another day in paradise," Dean mockingly drawls. But he lets his pretense of health fall away, leans against the table, arm shifting to brace his ribs and grimacing as the movement just sends pain shooting through his back.

"Sure it was," Cas sarcastically responds, his disbelief oblivious as he puts his own glass and the unspent bullet down. He comes to Dean and carefully slides his arm around Dean's waist to support him even as he starts to maneuver them both to his bed. But Dean puts up a protest before Cas could lower him to the mattress, "I'm not going to get cooties am I? Because this has been a high traffic zone lately," Dean teases, misses the days when Cas would blush at the mention of being intimate with a woman.

"I learned from the best," Cas brags, a sparkle of amusement in his eyes as he settles Dean down to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Hey, I only juggled two girls at a time," Dean corrects Cas' misconception of his Romeo feats. "But I understand, might as well enjoy the ride while you can."

"And those traveling with you," Cas qualifies, starts to gently maneuver Dean's coat off, calculating that the real injuries are hidden underneath his friend's layers of clothing.

"Oh yeah, I've seen how you're enjoying them," is Dean's lighthearted comeback, eyesbrows lasciviously jumping.

Freezing in his task, Cas' gaze Dean's. "You know I wasn't about talking about the women." '_You, Dean. I was just talking about you._'

Swallowing, Dean nods, has had more than enough proof of that today. "Yeah, know you were," he quietly accepts, hopes Cas can detect his true gratitude, thinks he does when Cas smiles and goes back to playing the role of his personal valet.

Dean flinches in pain as Cas' lifts his shirt, presses on his bruised torso, notices that Cas flinches right along with him. "They should have left me out there…or offed me. I could have been infected and your little threat had them bringing me back here," Dean says it quietly, without rancor, with maybe a hint of despair.

Cas bites his lip but keeps his eyes on the small puncture wound to Dean's stomach, uses a shirt on the floor to wipe away the blood so he can assess the seriousness of the injury. He makes his case for his actions as quietly as Dean did his opposition to the same. "But you weren't infected and my threat made sure you didn't get a bullet in the head before they realized that."

"But what if next time, it's not a false alarm," Dean huskily cross-examines, hand fisting in Cas' shirt, causing Cas to look up, for their eyes to clash. "I can get infected…I'm not immune. I didn't save all these people so I could infect them anyway, Cas."

"Next time, I'll be there," Cas declares in no uncertain terms. '_When you need me, I won't be helplessly, uselessly pacing the floor boards, fighting down the feeling of doom, of wondering if our last words will be ones of anger. Fearing that, without you, I will be as lost in this world as Sam was.'_

Dean knows it's a weakness on his part but he can't help but find Cas' pledge to have his back, to ensure he didn't go zombie, as a welcome act of defiance to his orders. Tries to cover up his relief by grousing out, "I'm still in charge, you still do what I tell you to."  
"Yeah, but just know that I will smite you if you go off and try to get yourself killed again," Cas threatens, sounding almost like his old angel, gravelly-voiced self.

But Dean's not cringing, is smirking instead. "Come on Cas, you always were a softie, even with your angel juice."

"Not when someone threatened you," Cas surprises himself by admitting aloud.

"Fine, no more kamikaze crap from me." Before Cas can rejoice in earning that declaration from his friend, Dean grimly announces, "Besides….I have a family reunion I have to make."

"And I'll be there at your side," Cas vows. '_Win or lose.'_

Dean nods, isn't going to waste his breath trying to dissuade Cas on his course of action, there would be time for that later. Time to ensure that, though he might have to kill Sam, he would not lead another adopted brother to his death.

Coming around to inspect Dean's back, Cas whistles at the extensive bruising. "What hit you?!"

"A car but actually I hit it. Did an exit out of a window. The car broke my fall."

"Broke your fall or your back?" Cas worriedly chided, running his fingers over the man's spine, thankfully not finding any broken vertebrae.

"It's kind of embarrassing," Dean quietly admits out of the blue.

Rummaging around his room for the good drugs, the ones he put away when he decided a drug haze was no condition to be if he wanted to regain Dean's trust, Cas absently responds, "What's embarrassing?" Returning to Dean triumphant, he hands the man two pills and a half-finished glass of water from his nightstand.

Downing the pills, Dean looks up to Cas, can't help grinning, like they'll both get a kick out of the joke he's about to share. "That I'm the fearless leader but you're the one everyone's afraid of." Giving a incredulous shake of his head, he imparts the latest crazy camp gossip, " They think you beat up Althouse over the FUBAR mission with the sniper outpost."

But Cas' dark expression, it reveals to Dean that the rumor mill wasn't mistaken. "Really, Cas?! We'll be lucky if Althouse goes out on patrol again?! And now Pitt is a little shaky too."

'_If they can't be trusted to watch your back, they shouldn't be out there_,' Cas rigidly thinks, doesn't say so though. But, by Dean's raised eyebrows of surprise, the man has guessed his opinion anyway. "Risa's ready to go on a patrol."

"I know," Dean begrudgingly admits, doesn't like the idea of the woman out there in a hot zone. A woman that he's attracted to, a woman whose strength in the face of the friggin' end of the world he has a great respect for.

But the idea appeals to Cas…because he knows the woman is in love with Dean, will risk her life to save Dean's. And Cas is all in favor of supplementing Dean's away team with people dedicated to that purpose, to upholding the mandate he has adopted even before he broke from heaven's ranks. After all, he had heard a saying once, about a man never having too many friends. That was doubly true for Dean Winchester. But being his friend meant more than just being willing to risk your own life to save his, meant that you had to look behind his façade and his walls and see his true pain and try to lessen that.

Which prompted Cas to say what he did next. "You've giving these people a chance to survive that they never would have had without you. You've given them a haven, an option other than just lying down and dying. Their odds…heck, all of our odds at living through this are crap but at least we're fighting for what's right."

"What, are you Mr. Inspirational Speaker now?" Dean sardonically chides but there's a touch of the old Dean humor in his tone.

"How many times are you going to try and label me?" Cas asks with affectionate exasperation.

"Oh, I don't know, when you stop flipping through character traits. What, you waiting to find the right one to settle with now that you're human?" Dean jokes, won't tell Cas that he likes him just the way he's always been.

"Humans are multifaceted, Dean. Let's take you for instance. You groused at Chuck for even _asking_ for a book to read…then did a special run into that library and came back with a stack of books. Told Yeager that he was too much of a klutz to handle a gun…then spent days giving him shooting lessons. And when Scott suggested game night you…."

"Alright, alright. Enough with my hallmark flashbacks. It's _your_ reputation that needs some overhauling now," Dean points out.

Shaking his head, Cas smiles and declares, "Nope. I like my reputation just the way it is." After all, Dean was the one who taught him that being feared had its advantages…like making sure someone thought real long and real hard before messing with his family.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	14. Chapter 14: I Have Become Death

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 14: I Have Become Death

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For once, Dean's not involved in the screaming match unfolding in the returning away team. Instead, it's confined to the only brother duo the camp can boast: Gabe and Scott.

"I don't even know you anymore! You just….killed them!" Scott's shout echoing in the wooded area even though his older brother's only inches from him.

Gabe's comeback is quiet, reserved but unwavering. "They were croats."

"They were **Children**! This sick mother…" that title Scott directs to Dean, doesn't take notice that Cas almost lays him out but is shortcutted by Dean's grabbing the ex-angel's arm. "..gives you an order and you just blindly obey."

Seemingly unfazed by his brother's accusation and disgust at his action, Gabe steely declares, "The were children. They weren't anymore. Like Dean said, we kill them or we end up killing each other."

Scott gives a bitter laugh. "Rrriiiggghhhtt. Our fearless leader spoke and you jumped to. He says _murder _children and you just do it."

But that charge severs Gabe's restraint, has him roughly grabbing onto his brother's jacket, yanking Scott into his personal space. "It was the only way we were getting out of there! You wanna die saving some monsters. 'Cause that's what those kids were. Monsters."

"And what are we?!" Scott scathingly demands. "Least they have something in them making them kill. What's our excuse?! What's his?!" pointing this time to their leader. Then he aims his next tirade to Dean. "It's easy for you, killing. No, worse, you _enjoy_ it. You're in your element, probably love this, getting people to kill on your command, having blood coating your hands, your soul, having this power to take lives, to decide who lives and who dies in this camp. Admit it, your talk about stopping all of this is a joke. Best day of your life was when the world started going to hell and you wouldn't stop the carnage, even if you could."

Though Dean says nothing, internally he shrinks back, like the words are delivering a mortal blow.

Cas isn't so restrained. Now that Dean has numbly dropped his grip on him, that he's free to voice his opinion on Scott's blasphemous take on Dean, Cas doesn't object with words but a killer right cross that has Scott on the ground, bleeding and unconscious.

Dean simply walks away. Tries to block out his brother's voice replaying in his head, what Sam said when they first encountered the virus in River Grove, Oregon, when Sam choose to not kill a sixteen year old croat.

"_I hesitated Dean, because it was a kid."_

Remembers his own comeback:_ "No, it was an IT."_

And Dean wishes to God he could believe that still, didn't know in his heart that somewhere down deep, they were still children in those bodies. That it was his fault. That the kids today weren't dead because of a bullet he fired, a swing of his knife but because of a choice he made in Hell. He condemned those children, this world, to this fate with his "Yes" in Hell and his "No" to Heaven.

And he can't bear the weight anymore, can no longer rationalize his choices, doesn't have the stomach to kill anymore innocents.

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"Yes! Yes! YES!" he screams to the heavens, blindly stumbling through a field, needs Zachariah to answer, for Michael to come, for someone to stop this, all of it. Because Sam's traded sides, Bobby's dead, and he's spent the day murdering children, cutting them down with his machete like their existence was as inconsequential as the weeds he's presently tramping down under foot.

"YES! I'm saying Yes! Michael, I'll do anything …anything you ask just….end this. Please. PLEASE!" but the heavens remain bleakly quiet, the wind doesn't stir with a heavenly presence, no mind touches his, asking for entrance into his soul. "YES!" he screams louder, as if they just weren't hearing him, had missed his total submission. Doesn't care that his voice is cracking with the abuse, goes on shouting "Yes! Yes! I said YES! I'm begging you….use me, take me. YES!"

When the heavens finally open up, it's not to answer Dean's cries but to deluge the Righteous Man in rain. Head turning up, choking on the water pouring from the sky, Dean shouts, "YES!"

He spins around as a voice speaks behind him.

Cas, standing there in the deluge, reluctantly tells the news he's withheld from his friend for months. "Zachariah has left, they have all left," his voice quiet, apologetic, sorrowful, not for the angels' departure but for the harm the revelation might do to Dean, especially now.

Stalking to Cas, Dean commands, "No, you call them, Cas. Tell them I'm ready."

"Dean…I can't," Cas mournfully replies.

Grabbing Cas with almost violent strength, Dean snarls, "Do it! Call on Zac…on Michael."

Not flinching at Dean's rough handling, Cas solemnly imparts, "Even if I wanted to…I can't. They're gone, Dean."

Shaking his head, Dean shoves Cas out of his hold, points an accusing finger at the ex-angel. "No, you're just trying to stop me from doing this but I've got to Cas. _I've got to_," his voice cracking on the last statement, despair bleeding through the words.

Swallowing his own stirred emotions at Dean's heartbreak, Cas croaks out, "It's too late, Dean."

Dean's face crumbles with utter defeat before it morphs into a determined mask of fury. Turning his back on Cas, he stomps away, baits to the dark sky above. "Come get me you winged sadists! I'll obey you…do whatever you want me to…" But he needs to inhale a shuddered breath before he can offer up the vow that might save the world but will decimate his soul. "I'll kill Sam."

But nothing happens, he's sold out his brother…and it means nothing. "Come on! Come for me?! I'm saying Yes!" he's more sobbing then screaming.

Unable to be a helpless spectator to Dean's despair, Cas reaches out for Dean, wants to keep the man from coming entirely apart. But Dean rejects his touch, pushes him away, insists, "They'll care, Cas. They'll care that I'm ready to say yes."

"There's no one left to care. Heaven is empty, Dean," Cas reveals, knew that certainty in whatever part of him was once a servant of heaven.

"No, don't lie, not about this!" Dean rages at Cas, as the messenger and the news he brings.

"I'm not lying, Dean," Cas chokes out, his eyes welling because the choice he made, it suddenly lies heavy on his heart. Because Dean might have chosen to say 'no' but Cas choose to not tell Dean when he sensed heaven's ranks were vacating this realm. Had thought it a good thing, that Dean's resolve to say 'no' wouldn't have to last much longer.

Cas had never thought this day would come, the day Dean would break, would say yes.

Reading irrefutable truth in Cas' eyes, Dean's world tilts around him. His time has run out. There are no more choices to be made. The world will burn …..and it will be all his fault.

Cas leaps forward, catches Dean as he starts to collapse to the ground, their combined weakness sending them both crashing to their knees in the mud. Wrapping his arms around his friend's huddled form, Cas rests his chin on Dean's head.

Shaking his head against Cas' chest even as his hands fist his friend's shirtfront, Dean cries out, "No, it can't be too late!"

But it is, it's too late for a heavenly intervention, for Dean's capitulation to mean a thing. And it's too much for Dean, to know how utterly he's failed. "I've killed us all, Cas. I've killed us all," he brokenly repeats.

"I don't believe that, Dean. I wouldn't be here if I did," Cas declares but Dean's beyond his reassurances, is too lost in grief, in the hopelessness of the moment.

"I've killed us all," Dean says again because it's the only truth left. Then he pulls out of Cas' hug, stands up and walks away. Back to camp, to the hell he's bought and paid for.

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Should I apologize for the despair in this chapter? Probably. In my defense, the show made me do it. 2014Dean said he said 'yes' to heaven but it was too late, so my sick mind had to conjure up how that scene would play out and this is what I came up with. Hope I did ok.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	15. Chapter 15: Promises

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 15: Promises

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Houston was nothing like Dean remembered it. Was burned out, abandoned, overrunning with croats. Even the River Walk in San Antonio hadn't been untouched, chunks of the walkway's missing, the bridges are broken, the water polluted with debris …bodies everywhere. Nothing like it was when he and Sam walked along the river, took a day off to play tourist because Sam loved his history. Dean had even tried on some cowboy boots but didn't think his hot credit card could even afford their price.

And he and Sam had laughed, together. Had been more than brothers, had been friends. Besties.

'_But that didn't last,'_ Dean bitterly jogged his memory.

And now, even the Alamo hadn't survived this particular stand.

"You alright?"

"Yeah," he replied to Cas' concern without meeting his friend's gaze, had given up figuring how Cas, without his angel mojo, always knew when he was immersed in Sam memories. Mentally shaking off the past, he forged ahead. Raising his voice so his team scattered around the river walk could hear him, he said, "Croats aren't here so let's check out that warehouse a few blocks to the north."

And they had found the croats there, too friggin' many of them.

At first, it seemed another miss. They were on the warehouse ground floor and nothing but left over airplane parts in smashed crates to show for their efforts. Then the weakened warehouse floor gave way, sent three of his team plummeting to the sublevel. Two died on impact with the hard concrete ground, the third, Gabe, wasn't that lucky.

Gabe's brother, Scott, had screamed his brother's name as the floor fractured under his big brother's feet, gave another scream as he watched as his brother's fall was broken by a pyramid of crates which left Gabe tumbling to the ground, mostly unhurt…and surrounded by thirty croats. "Gabe!"

Gabe came to his feet shooting, and Scott and Dean joined in, shot the croats crossing into Gabe's personal space. But more croats took their place, like a pack of wild starving animals, their first meal in a month finally in sight. Dean heard the rest of his remaining team take up the fight, target the croats, trying to clear a path for Gabe to get away. Saw from his peripheral vision Scott running for the stairs, set to go to Gabe, to take his stand, even if it was his last one, at his brother's side.

Suddenly his name echoed off the rafters. "Dean!" and he knew what Gabe was asking of him. No. Demanding of him. For him to keep his promise:

"_If we get into it and there's no getting out, promise me you'll take me out. I don't want Scott to have to do it, don't know if he can. So you…you have to do it for me…for Scott and for me. Kill me before I turn into one of them, before Scott has to or dies trying to save me. Promise me, Dean. Promise me."_

A promise made over bottles of beer in the dead of night, when truths were too stark to deny and the dawn could hold any thousand horrible fates for all of them. But it was a promise all the same, a promise Dean had prayed he'd never have to keep…like his promise to Sam, to kill his own brother if he went dark side evil.

Promises that he was being forced to uphold, no matter how dead it would make him inside. Sam surely didn't care how it would affect him, if he did, he wouldn't have said the Big Yes. And Gabe, he was simply out of options except for Dean's promise. Was surrounded by croats, cut off, doomed no matter how much of a fight he put up or how valiantly Scott, Dean or the whole team tried to reach him, save him. Time wasn't in their favor, it never was.

Lowering his rifle, Dean met Gabe's eyes, not through the rifle sight but man to man, warrior to warrior, big brother to big brother. Leader to blindly devoted follower. And Dean knew that he had to stop Scott from dying trying to save his brother, had to kill Gabe, a man who always had his back, had saved his life more than once, a man he had allowed himself to call a friend.

With a painful inhale, Dean accepted that he had to fulfil his promise. Lifting the rifle in hands coldly steady, he sighted Gabe's heart and unflinchingly pulled the trigger. Gabe dropped even as the croats tackled him, as Scott screamed his brother's name.

Numbly, Dean wondered if killing Sam with The Colt would come this easily for him.

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"I did the best thing I could for him." Part of Dean thought maybe it was even the truth.

Scott's struggle to get free of Cas and tear into their leader was on display for all of Camp Chitaqua to see. "He was my **brother**!? Doesn't that mean anything to you!" Scott's shout reverberated through the surrounding forest.

"He wouldn't have been your brother after he became a croat," Dean emotionlessly pointed out, like that was going to settle Scott down, stop him from looking at him like he was a murderer of the first order.

Something stilled in Scott, but Cas didn't trust the lull in the man's struggles, instead he got a better grip on Gabe's distraught little brother. But Dean gave him a nod, silently ordered him to release Scott. And though Cas knew that it might just be Dean wanting Scott to pound on him, to hurt him for what he had done, Cas followed Dean's command, like he had a hundred times before.

"Now I get it," Scott's voice suddenly monotone, his eyes, though, sparked with even greater anger, fiercer hatred and some twisted look of pity.

It was the pity that amped Dean's emotions up, always did. Stepping close, menacingly so, Dean lowly demanded, "What do you get?" because whatever Scott thought he knew about him, about his choices, about his soul, he didn't know jack.

"Why your brother did whatever he had to do to get away from you. Even say yes to…" Dean's fist crashing into Scott's jaw preempted the man's next words. Dean's follow up blow to his stomach doubled him over and when Dean's hand grabbed his chin, Scott saw the punch that was coming for his face.

But Cas intervened, wasn't sure who he was trying to save pain: Scott or Dean. Nearly tackling Dean, Cas wrapped his arms around Dean from behind, effectively trapping Dean's bloody knuckled hands to his side. His words, however, were all for Scott. "Get out of here." And when the man was stupid enough to just stand there, he screamed with a surprisingly good rendition of his angel smiting voice, "Go!" which had Scott stumbling away, going as fast as he could with a concussion and a broken spirit.

Then Cas was left only with Dean, somehow his order sending everyone else scurrying away. When Dean growled, "Let me go!" he did, knew that he couldn't hold Dean back or down, had to let his friend explode or implode. But that didn't mean Cas was going anywhere. After all, It wouldn't be the first time he got blown into a thousand pieces for his loyalty to Dean Winchester.

Swiftly, Dean turned on Cas, not with a physical blow but something far worse: distrust. "How'd he know about Sam, huh?! Those the stories you're telling around the campfire!"

And it was a hurtful and scary enough of an accusation to override Cas's edict of letting Dean come apart if it would do some good. Instead, he took the reins of the direction of the conversation, defied good common sense and grabbed Dean again, latched onto Dean's arms and forced his friend to meet his eyes, to see he was telling the truth. "I would never betray your trust." Didn't release Dean until he knew Dean believed it, until Dean gave a nod of acceptance and a hint of apology for his accusation. Even with that, it was a gradual loosening of his fingers, showed his reluctance to let Dean go.

"Chuck?"

But Cas shook his head. "He knows the rules, wouldn't let any of that slip even while he's drunk." Kept to himself the rest of Chuck's reasonings. '_And Chuck feels too guilty for letting this happen without warning you, for sitting by when he knew Sam would open the Cage. Not to mention the prophet knows you, Dean, better than you know yourself, has written your life story for years…and roots for you every time, against any odds. Is always the one who, after the ranting of the camp settles down, he's the one that quietly speaks up, defends you, reminds everyone they are alive because of you.'_

"Well, if you didn't tell Scott and Chuck didn't, then who?!" Dean thundered back because that was his private crap, not to be bandied about the camp, to amuse others…or to be used against him.

"Gabe and Scott, they're the ones that picked up that hunter couple months back," Cas darkly reminded. The hunter Cas thought had left in time before he opened his mouth, told someone here things Dean wanted to keep to himself. Fleetingly thought, '_I should have killed that idiot on the gate before he left._' Might have if Cas knew what the hunter had unleased.

Dean cursed and rubbed a hand down his face, wondered if everyone in camp knew about Sam now, knew about him. About his starting all this..and letting his pride stop him from ending it when he could have. He almost missed Cas' quiet, "He wasn't right."

"Yeah, there was no getting his brother back," Dean matter-of-factly stated.

But Cas shook his head, stepped up to Dean, needed his friend's attention before he said this. "I meant about your brother."

Surprisingly, Dean bitterly agreed with Cas's statement. "I know." Proved that he wasn't even on the same page with Cas when he continued. "Sam didn't break us up…I did." Then Dean walked away, felt the familiar weight a bit heavier today, after what he had had to do, after Gabe. And Scott bringing up Sam…rehashing his fairytale belief once upon a time that they could have headed all this off at the pass: Sam saying yes…the croat virus going viral…the world ending. It wasn't doing him a bit of good.

Cas wanted to stop Dean from leaving, tell him that Sam didn't go or stay gone because he hated him but because he loved him. That Sam had thought that, if he stayed with Dean, he would only put Dean in more danger. Cas wanted to tell Dean again that he had doubts, that he thought there might still be a chance to get Sam back. But he knew Dean wouldn't hear of it, wouldn't let the spark of hope flare to life.

So Cas cowardly let Dean walk away thinking the worst, didn't push his hope on the man. Cas had lost way too much of himself already, was just barely hanging on. Whether it was fair or not, Dean was his anchor, the only one he had left. And he wasn't going to forfeit that…not for a fledging belief that Sam's love for Dean, it still mattered. That Gabe's death wasn't about defeat but love, Gabe's love for his brother, Dean's love for a friend. That love still existed, that it might have one more miracle up it's sleeve. No, he wouldn't risk Dean's friendship on voicing a sentimental belief…would keep all that to himself and hope his belief wasn't in vain.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	16. Chapter 16: Milk Run

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: So part of this chapter and the next few were written back in 2009. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to not skip chapters, thereby giving me the chance to build up a backstory before we get to this part.

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Chapter 16: Milk Run

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It happened on a Milk Run. You know one of those "honey, can you stop and get some milk on the way home from work" deals. Course this particular milk run was prompted by Chuck whining about the camp's dwindling supply of toilet paper.

If there was ever something less worth his life than toilet paper, Dean couldn't think of it. Not when, as he was about to step out of the abandoned, multiple 'croatoan' graffitied office building, he heard the crack of rifle fire…before his thigh then his chest lit up with stinging pain as bullets tore into his flesh.

He didn't remember going down, was just suddenly viewing the trash covered ground at eye level. Felt awash in agony, with his breath stolen from him, heard the muffled sound of a fire fight and the shouting of words that he couldn't make sense of.

Starkly, he knew he wasn't getting back up, not from this. His last hurrah…on a toilet paper run. He'd be indignant at that, if he wasn't so scared.

He'd been to Hell and he'd ensured that Heaven was forsaken, so death was as terrifying a prospect as it got. He knew that nothing good waited on the other side, especially for him.

Then there were hands on him, a voice shouting his name but he couldn't move, couldn't speak.

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Cas was across the street, about to raise his hands, gloat to Dean that he had found a roll of toilet paper. He startled when the shots rang out, like the sound was foreign instead of common place, watched in horror as a spurt of blood erupted from Dean's leg before another bullet thudded into Dean's chest, dropping the man to the ground like he was dead already.

Someone was screaming Dean's name, Cas barely recognized or realized it was him, was his voice, that his voice had the capacity to sound so terrified …so unhinged. It never crossed his mind to try and find the croat who had shot Dean, didn't consciously drop the formally treasured paper in his hands to the ground, just ran…out into the open zone of the street, toward his best friend.

Crashing to his knees at Dean's side, Cas, for a horrifying moment, thought Dean was gone..until he saw Dean's chest move, knew that the man still drew breath. His call of "Dean" was all heartbreak and plea as he fisted his hands into Dean's shirt at waist and shoulder. Then he captured Dean's chin in his hand and gently turned the man's head, got those expressive eyes to look at him, see him. But what came back from the familiar green gaze wasn't the strength, the defiance, even the anguish he was used to seeing. Was a well of fear, a wall of pain.

Cas slid his hand from Dean's chin to his cheek, gently offered support to the too heavy head and a physical connection to keep the critically wounded man with him, to make sure Dean knew he wasn't alone. "I'm here with you, Dean."

Looking up into Cas' face, Dean heard other words, words said in Hell, words he hadn't remembered until then.

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"I'm here for you, Dean. To take away your pain." Recalls now how a bright, pure presence reached for him, tenderly pried his hand open, removed the bloody knife from his grasp, offered him something he had long given up on: an escape. But he choked out a protest, "Can't go…deserve this."

A hand fell onto his shoulder and pain and purity surged through him. Then the voice proclaimed, "You never deserved to be in this place, to bear this pain."

But he tried to wrench free, to not be rescued, to remain where he was, to pay for his pathetic weakness and merciless cruelty for all of eternity. "You can't take away my shame."

The bright presence, Castiel, the angel of the Lord, didn't agree with him, declared instead, "The Lord shall raise him up, and if he has committed sins, they shall be forgiven him." **

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And Dean thought the same now as he did then, that he had too many sins stacked up for forgiveness. Surely defying heaven's wishes and condemning the world to its fate was beyond even Cas' God's ability to pardon.

"Leave me, Cas," he wheezed out, meant '_save yourself'_ because he was the liability now. Knew that trying to move him was a waste of energy, like digging a grave for something you were gonna burn to ash. That his team had to leave him before they got ambushed, because where one croat was, a hundred were and his unit continuing to stand still and trade shots with a handful of them only put a bull's-eye on his friends.

Then, as if his thoughts had turned to reality, a bullet zinged over Cas' head, close enough to almost brush through the ex-angel's hair and sank into the wall behind them. "Go!" Dean commanded, but it came out with the ferociousness of a newborn kitten's mew.

At the rekindled danger, Cas protectively bent over Dean, gruffly, almost angrily said, "There's no getting rid of me, remember?" because he had no intentions of forfeiting that vow and Dean should know that. But if he didn't do something, get Dean somewhere safe the words would mean nothing. Sliding his hands under Dean's legs and back, he hated hearing Dean cry out in pain as he gathered his best friend into his arms and stood up, started to make a dash for the truck. But soon found that, the silence that fell as Dean passed out, was infinitely harder to bear.

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Dean came to with a jolt, opened his eyes to see Cas hovering over him, his brown hair tossed by the wind, felt the truck's flatbed under him, each rut in the terrain jarring him, spiking pain throughout his entire system of nerve endings. He arched off the flatbed as the source of the intense pain traveled like wildfire from his leg and his chest. Felt a hand settle on the side of his neck, give a light comforting squeeze as a thumb rubbed his jaw, the tempo matching the soothing words reaching him through his haze.

"Ssshhh, ssshhh, It'll get better. I just have to slow down the bleeding. You keep fighting, Dean. Just keep fighting," Cas lulled as he pressed mercilessly onto Dean's thigh. Was mimicking Dean, how Dean had taken Cas' panic and pain when he had been shot and blunted it with his gentle touch, rock steady reassurances, by not leaving him. '_But I wasn't shot twice, wasn't losing more blood every second, wasn't…_.' Harshly, Cas shut it down, his thoughts, his fears, just put everything into giving Dean what he needed.

Cas bowed over Dean until the aerodynamics of the truck's cab had the wind slipping by overhead, until he was close enough to lean down by Dean's ear. Until he didn't have to scream to be heard, so his words were just for Dean, not for the two other men in the back of the truck, shooting at any croat who even looked at the truck as they sped out of the hot zone, headed to safety, to the camp, home.

"I gave up everything and I did it, all of it, for you and this is not how you're going to repay me, by dying, by leaving me all alone in a world I only stayed in for you," though Cas' words had come out biting at the start, they were despairing and imploring by the end. The realization that he might be asking for something that wasn't in the human's grasp to grant had Cas slipping his arm behind Dean's neck and drawing the man into a hug. Then he held on, tried to instill strength into the failing body, to impart whatever grace he had left to the man that was a brother to him.

"If I don't…" Dean's voice was barely a whisper of air, was nearly taken by the wind, was probably only audible to Cas because there was miniscule residues of his angel mojo left. "…make it, try…." He coughed and Cas soothed, "Easy, easy. We'll patch you up."

But Cas could feel Dean shaking his head against his chest before the man continued his death bed appeal. "…angels…find them…get your…old job back."

Head pressed to Dean's, Cas chuckled but it was grief filled. He pulled back until his eyes met Dean's, needed this to sink in with his best friend, finally, maybe lastly. "My old job's my new job: Protecting you." '_And I've failed at that today, like I have so many times before. But this …this might be the worst of it…the last screw up, the one that I can't endure.'_ "You told me once that there's a right and a wrong, that I should do what's right, and I have and I don't regret it, not for a second, Dean."

"Stubborn…angel," Dean retorted but there was affection in his tone and love welling in his eyes for the brother who hadn't abandoned him, who had sacrificed so much without compliant, who loved him even knowing how soiled his soul was.

Cas smiled a watery smile. "Learned everything I know from you," and Dean might have had a comeback but the truck hit a hole in the road, had the occupants in the truck bed clinging to anything they could to not be ejected over the side. Folding himself over Dean, Cas threw his hands out to brace himself and the wounded man so neither of them ended up slamming against the side of the truck. But that didn't prevent them from getting a little airborne and being harshly resettled back onto the metal bed.

When Cas recovered enough to push himself off Dean, he saw that Dean was no longer conscious, that his friend's thigh was again bleeding and the shirt he had pressed against Dean's chest wound was saturated with blood. "Keep being stubborn, Dean. Don't you give up," Cas threatened, hands fisting in his friend's shirt and finally understanding the fury Sam had unleashed on him once. When Sam had thought he was purposefully not healing Dean, was letting Dean suffer maybe even die out of cruelty, spite. When Sam had furiously and correctly concluded that he had selfishly and recklessly put his brother in danger, had not safeguard him and could do nothing to ease his pain.

'_If Sam were here now_…' Cas clamped his eyes shut, would rather face off with the devil himself than a Sam Winchester who held him accountable for Dean's present condition, for his brother's agony. But then Cas' anger flared because Sam wasn't there, by his own choice, had walked away from Dean, had not overridden Dean's dismissal, had given up. Had given in. '_Walked away because he couldn't bear to go through what you're about to: helplessly sit back and watch as your brother dies_.'

Because that was how this story would end. If Cas played by the rules, if he believed the odds, if he applied logic and accepted fate's plan. If he neglected to throw into the mix three factors that Dean lived by: love, loyalty, and family.

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.

**King James Version Bible: _James 5:15_


	17. Chapter 17: Forlorn Hope

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 17: Forlorn Hope

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Cas can't do it, can't sit by Dean's side and watch his best friend die. Has never missed being an angel as much as he does now, did a few hours ago when he dug the bullets out of Dean, when his friend's fortitude broke just for an instant, long enough for a cry of pain to slip past his teeth. But as agonizing as it was to hear Dean's pain vocalized, his friend's utter stillness after that was worse. Worse because Cas knew what it was: a preamble to ultimate stillness, of a soul abandoning this world for the next.

And no one knows what the next holds, not with the world, with hell and the heavens itself in chaos. The only certainty was there was no certainty.

Hand lightly resting on his best friend's bandaged and bleeding chest, Cas is nearly bowed over Dean, as if he can do it again, be the man's guardian angel, snatch him from perdition…and heaven's manipulations. Grasping the man's cold, limp hand, Cas knows in his other life, it would have been an act of prayer, folded hands asking for mercy. But there is a dearth of that: mercy. Just like there is a void where his God once was.

Forsaken, lost, broken but still fighting. That was what Dean had been, what Cas was with him. But alone, if Dean died, there would be no reason for Cas to fight, to draw breath, to not follow his friend into the next life, whatever and wherever that was.

Head hovering above the chest that still moves slightly with breath, Cas tremulously begins, "I can't….", his voice garbled by tears still to be shed. "I can't let you go and I can't save you. I can't give you peace."

And that's what he's wanted for Dean from the beginning: peace.

Had thought he had a way to give it to him once, if Dean followed Zachariah's plan, if he became Michael's vessel. Had promised Dean as much and more: _"I see inside you, your guilt, your anger, confusion. In paradise, all if forgiven. You'll be at peace…even with Sam."_

'_Was it all a lie? Always impossible, everything I hoped for him?_' And it can't be,he can't fail on all fronts, can't let Dean die when he had given none of what he promised him.

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Cas doesn't make a clean escape, runs into Chuck on his way out of Dean's cabin.

"Hey Cas? How is he?" Chuck inquires, his voice full of sorrow as if he knows the answer already.

'_Dying._' But Cas says something less dramatic. "Not good." Orders, "Stay with him."

Seeing that Cas is toting a bag on his shoulder, Chuck grabs the ex-angel's arm, roadblock's Cas' departure from the room, the room containing a critically wounded Dean Winchester. "Whoa, are you…are you leaving?" disbelief sending his voice up an octave.

Looking behind him, to Dean's motionless body in the bed, Cas breathes out, "I have to."

"No Cas! You can't! Dean's….he needs you here," Chuck stresses, tightening his grip on Cas when the ex-angel shakes his head. "Yes! Yes he does. He's barely hanging on. If you abandon him…."

"I am not…." Cas nearly shouts indignantly before he rips his arm from Chuck's hold, clenches his jaw shut and steadies himself. "I am not abandoning him. I'm doing this _for him_."

"Leaving?!" Chuck incredulously charges but when he speaks next, his words are quiet, reverent, like saying them any louder would make them true. "He's dying, isn't he? That's what you can't face. Losing him." He sees the truth of his statement in Cas' grief filled eyes before the ex-angel looks away. Gentling his tone, he says, "I can't start to understand all you two have been through but I know you're the only one he lets down his guard for. He trusts you….to stay with him when he wins…" and his voice catches on the other outcome, "….and when he loses."

To this Cas bluntly announces, "I'm going to find Sam," as if it absolves him from everything: leaving Dean, his incapability to watch Dean die, his powerlessness to save Dean.

Chuck's eyebrows climb up his forehead at Cas' proposal before he stammers, "Sam?! But….Sam's turned…is ….you know. " But at Cas' steely glare at his statement, he clings to what he and Cas believe, _want _to believe, that, regardless of Zachariah's report, Sam wouldn't say yes, not when doing so would be betraying Dean. Taking that into account, Chuck focuses on another issue Cas might be forgetting about. "Cas, Sam and Dean… they haven't talked…Dean doesn't say his name." Cas' jaw jumps and Chuck knows Cas doesn't care about any of that, so he sighs, says, "We don't know where Sam is."

"I have ….other sources. I think I know where Sam's at," Cas reveals a little cagey, like he didn't get the information on the up and up.

"Dean know that? That you know where Sam's at, that you're going for Sam? Even if Sam's still….Sam, Dean might not want him here, Cas. And how will you know if Sam's not changed sides, regardless of what we want to believe."

"He hasn't." At Chuck's obvious lack of faith in that statement, Cas exasperatedly abandoned his bravado, replaces it with a statement of hard logic, "I'll know when I see him."

Chuck rubs a hand over his mouth and down his beard, hates when he's forced to be the voice of reason. "I don't mean to doubt your angel senses but they've been practically non-existent for a while now."

"Yes but not all of my angel instincts have gone." Cas had rare moments of foreboding when danger, ok, really heightened danger was close. Had known when the angels had gone for good. Knew when it was a hell minion and not a croat they were facing off with. And he would know if Sam Winchester had truly abandoned his brother, if his body was simply a vessel, his soul dead or so tainted by evil that death would be welcome. He would know that.

Chuck, however, didn't share Cas' confidence. "And if you're wrong, you'll be bringing the enemy into camp, _right to Dean_. Do you get what you're risking?!"

"Yes," Cas declares, knows it like he knew what he was risking when he stole Dean from Zachariah's prison and Michael's grasp, when he defied heaven and took up a seemingly unwinnable war by a human's side, when he stayed with Dean instead of going with the angels. Reckless, dangerous choices, all of them. And none that he regretted.

"What do you expect to happen, Cas? A miracle healing at their reunion, some brother bonding, …a tearful goodbye," Chuck gently presses, knows that Cas is hurting deeply, scared, that he would do anything for Dean. Trouble is, Chuck isn't sure this is Cas' best choice.

"Maybe…and maybe none of it. He just …" Cas closes his eyes, opens them and looks again to Dean, to the man that had risked so much for him, had trusted him, had forgiven his every transgression. And for all that they were, for as strong as their friendship was, he knew Dean's heart was his brother's. Even now, even through Sam's possible treachery. "He needs Sam, Chuck. And no matter how wrong or right it makes things, I'm going to make sure he gets to see Sam."

"I just….think there are better ways to help him," Chuck stammers.

Frustrated, despairing anger surges through Cas, has him shoving Chuck against the doorway, shouting in his face. "How?! Tell me how and I'll do it!"

"Pray for him." And Chuck's suggestion steals the very air from the room and the ex-prophet flinches when Cas doesn't lash out physically at him but releases him, snorts in harsh condescension.

"Pray? No one's listening, can't you get that through your head" Cas jeers, tapping his finger almost forcefully into Chuck's forehead. "There's no one left to pray to." Then he pulls back, adjusts the bag on his shoulders and asserts, "No, I'm doing the only thing I can to help Dean." And then he's opening the door, about to go through it, to walk away, begin his mission but Chuck's next words root him to the floor.

"Dean prayed for you." Seeing the tension in Cas' back, Chuck nevertheless continues. "When your bullet wound became infected and you were burning up with fever, he sat by you and he prayed for you, asked God to heal you. And you _lived_, Cas."

Taken aback at this revelation, nearly drowning in the surge of utter affection for Dean, at the man's actions because, he knew what it cost Dean to pray to a God that Dean thought had doomed him, his family, his world. "Well, I don't have his faith," bitterness resonating in the raspy confession.

Knowing that his protests have resulted in nothing but delaying the inevitable, Chuck points out one more important detail. "You're mortal now, Cas. You could get killed going after Sam." '_Could get killed __by Sam_,' he lets unvoiced.

Shooting a look a the ex-prophet over his shoulder, Cas sardonically challenges, "You volunteering to go with me?"

"No," Chuck quietly and shamefully replies. "Guess just…be careful. I don't want to have to tell Dean you're dead, Ok."

Neither man expressing their dread, that Chuck would not have to tell Dean anything, that Dean was most likely beyond their words, beyond their reach. But Cas clung to the belief that Dean wasn't beyond Sam's, that love still had power here, was still something worth fighting for…even worth Dean Winchester's life. Or all of this, all their heartbreak, all their struggles to save lives, it was for nothing.

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Thanks for reading and reviewing! Since I missed posting a chapter one day this week, I might be persuaded to post the next chapter late tonight. So let me hear your guesses on what Cas will find on his search.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	18. Chapter 18: Mission of Mercy

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Thanks for the guesses and to Hundley for the persuasion! So here's the next chapter a day early!

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Chapter 18: Mission of Mercy

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There's no life here, not among the devastation, the bodies strewn across the ground and barbwire fences and abandoned cars. Signs of a war lost…on both sides. Croats lying dead beside military personnel, crude weapons scatter the ground along with M16 rifles and .45 guns. There is no victory here, only death.

It's ironic that it's the place Cas has come seeking hope.

But he clings to the faith that's led him there as he continues his search, now going on five hours in the once bustling city. Turning down another alleyway cluttered with trash, a refrigerator and numerous bodies, he side steps around it all, makes his way through to another street. And when he senses the danger, he's not sure if it's some of his angel mojo or Dean's training that saves his life, has him dropping to the ground and rolling right as a bullet thunks into the wall where he was a mere second ago.

Coming up from his roll, he hunkers down behind the refrigerator, gun at the ready, wondering how many he'll have to go through to get out of the alleyway. It's not the first such jeopardy he's endured since leaving the Camp, leaving Dean. It has been almost a constant struggle to stay alive, to keep searching, to not give into despair.

Refusing to waste time hiding, he bobs his head around the refrigerator and when no bullets come his way, he steps to the alleyway, does a run to his next cover, a car. As he leans his back against it, his eyes strain for movement in the street ahead. He isn't expecting the street level window behind him to shatter before a gun barrel pokes out. Taking a page from Dean's book, he doesn't run away but charges toward the threat, grabs the barrel before a shot is fired and pulls hard enough to unbalance his assailiant, for him to get a fist full of fabric and pull them through the window.

But his assailant turns his pull into a tackle, hits him solidly in the chest, knocking them back to the ground. While Cas is trying to locate his gun, a fist plows into his face followed by another and before he can recover, the barrel of his own gun is pressed to his forehead. In that moment of panic, of thinking he's going to die and with him Dean's last hope…Cas gets a good look at his conqueror.

"Sam?" he hoarsely inquires because the man about to take his life barely resembles the younger Winchester, his face covered in a gnarled beard, a scar distorting his left cheek, and his eyes…his eyes are almost inhuman, feral, but not like the croats, feral with pain, with loss, with utter despair.

His assailant's eyes tighten with confusion, like he's not sure he's awake, like he doesn't recognize the name he's being called.

"It's me Cas," Cas announces, clarifies at Sam's continued confusion, "Castiel". But the name feels weird on his tongue, hasn't gone by that name in so long.

Then Sam's eyes widen and some of the ferocity shifts to shock and happiness. "Cas?" Before Cas makes a reply, Sam jerks him into a rough, desperate hug and, after a moment, Cas returns it. Though he and Sam had never really seen eye to eye, he's so glad to find the man, to know that, however the years have changed him, Sam's not a vessel, is still Dean's brother.

Then Sam pulls back, is achingly hopeful as he asks the question Cas knew would be coming. "Where's Dean? Is he nearby?" But Cas' face must betray his thoughts because Sam's expression turns to fear and Sam stutters out, "No…no, he can't be dead," denial, fear and harsh conviction twisted together in his words.

"He isn't," Cas reassures even as he wonders if it's a lie by now. "Not yet. He was…shot. We've done all we can but…."

"Take me to him." There is a demand in Sam's words, a threat not so unlike he directed at Cas once before '_Heal him. Miracle now_!'

Relief surges through Cas that Sam wants to go, that he doesn't have to convince the man to come, or worse, knock him out. Because, one way or another, he vowed that he wasn't going back to Dean without bringing him his brother. Yet, now that he's found Sam, knows Sam said no, is still himself, other considerations come to mind, considerations that could overshadow his original design. Grabbing onto Sam's shirt front, he stops the younger Winchester from getting up. "I need your word that you won't hurt him." Without that assurance, Cas will never know if he's doing the right thing, for Dean, for Sam, for the world as they know.

Sam's eyes flicker with pain at Cas' fear, at the notion of him hurting Dean. "I won't," he vows solemnly, knows Cas isn't talking about physically hurting Dean. Is talking about emotionally, because that was where Dean was the most vulnerable, his heart. His brother loved too much, loved too deeply, and when that love blew up in his face, when Sam seemingly rejected his love, Dean did damage control, shut down, closed himself off, told Sam goodbye instead of giving him the amnesty he had a thousand times before. So no, Sam wasn't going to risk repeating that mistake, of losing Dean all over again.

"Promise me," Cas insists, because, as much as Sam was saying what he needed to hear, he knew he couldn't take a halfhearted vow, not about this.

Swallowing, understanding that if he failed to convince Cas of his change of heart, the angel would not take him to his brother, would leave him here, knowing Dean was maybe dying and he would never see him. Eyes pouring down into Cas', he let his emotional walls fall, let the angel see down to his soul, the need he had to see his brother, be with his brother, the regrets ripping him apart until he was barely alive, that he would plead with the angel to not deny him going to Dean. "I promise. I won't hurt him Cas. Not ever again….just, please take me to him. _Please,_" his voice breaking, tears slipping down his face.

Seeing a Winchester cry was like witnessing Peter deny Jesus, Israel fall to invaders again, hurt Cas' soul deeper than he thought possible anymore. For it was a sign of desolation, of hope virtually lost. Of need so great, there could be no pride in begging. And that was what Sam was doing, begging, and Cas knew it wasn't to him, was to Dean, to have that slim tendril chance at forgiveness, of regaining his brother's love, of spending time together, even if it was the little bit that Dean had left.

It wasn't Cas' place to deny them that. Instead, he was there to make sure they had that chance, that Dean had what mercy he could give him. "You do know that I can't take you to Dean if you won't get off me, right?"

And Sam's eyebrows fly up and then he gives a raw chuckle as he gets up, watches as Cas comes to his feet. "You sound like Dean," affection and jealousy and humor churning in the deduction.

Cas gives a smirk, isn't embarrassed to claim some of Dean's traits. "He rubs off on you."

"Tell me about it," Sam agrees with brotherly pride.

Then he and Cas cut through the city back to Cas' car, and it doesn't pass either man's notice that the maneuvers they use, the hand signals that pass between them, the instincts that get them past some ify areas, all were courtesy of Dean's influence.

The possibility of that guidance soon being all that they had left of Dean, it shakes both men to the core. Felt inconceivable that, after everything the world had thrown at them, the worst might yet be coming. And if it did, it would break them both like nothing else ever could.

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Tada! Enter Sam into our lovely AU! His presence in the storyline was a hard secret for me to keep but I hope you like the way I'm taking my AU vs. the show's.

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	19. Chapter 19: The Road Home

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 19: The Road Home

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There's been a million signs of the end times but none more painful to Sam than the sight of the Impala, abandoned, discarded among the grass, doors still open as if Dean stopped her, got out and kept walking, didn't look back. '_Like he did with me. Like I did with him in that motel room in "Texas" after almost choking him to death_.' His eyes blurred with tears, at that memory, at the hopelessness Dean must have felt to forsake the Impala, at the sheer _ache _he himself had been living with the past three and half years. Since he walked away from Dean, since Dean wouldn't let him back in, since he had realized, even more harshly than when Dean had died, that he wasn't whole without his brother, was something less than a man, something more than a wounded animal, was just …living because it seemed wrong to die when his brother had once condemned his soul to hell to ensure he took another breath, kept breathing. It would have been a slap in Dean's face to surrender to the suicidal urgings. Though waking up to another day…it was a bitter reward when there was no hope for the future, for something good to ever happen again to him.

And even this journey, it was a confusing mixture of hope and dread, joy and sorrow. He was getting what he prayed on his knees to get: a chance to see his brother again. But he didn't know if it was coming too late, their reunion. If Dean had already surrendered his grip on life, leaving him utterly alone, forever. And part of Sam knew, gift or not, he would not live this life knowing his brother was gone, that whatever slim, whatever delusional hope he had still kept burning that Dean would show up one day, call him Sammy and they would stand at each other's side to fight to their last breath, if that was no longer even possible, he would leave too, would let the first croat he happened upon slit his throat…or let Cas finish him off like the angel had threatened before, years ago when neither of them knew just how much he needed killing.

He startled when Cas's hand touched his arm, shied away from the contact, too long in croat territory to welcome touch, too many years spent alone to remember that it could be a comfort, had once been.

"We're here, Sam. This is his cabin," Cas lowly announced, the monotone of his voice having left him years ago.

Rubbing his hands on his threadbare jeans, Sam looked at the cabin, realized that they were in an abandoned military compound, that Dean had established his own garrison there, had become the leader he was meant to be…only on a level not worthy of the genius of his planning or the strength of his will. '_Strength of will but not his body…his body…it's not invincible….and neither is he._' Sam intimately, painfully knew that, had held Dean's dead body in his arms hundreds of times to know how cruelly true that was…but didn't want to do it again. Couldn't. Would rather give away his body and soul as a vessel than endure that again.

"I…can't, Cas," he choked out, found that there he was just enough left of his soul to feel terror, because he had thought he had bore losing everything….. until this moment. Knew there was a last piece of him, last pure piece of him, that lived on in Dean and if Dean was already dead…there would be nothing left, to fight for, to fight against.

"Can't!? Can't what?!" Cas turned on the seat to lance his look into Sam, his own fear and dread congealing into anger at the one person who might be able to turn it around and who was now cowering in the corner. "He's done all the hard parts, made the sacrifices, paid the prices owed by you, by this whole generation. While you've been lurking in the shadows, he's been fighting on the front lines. Making decisions that keep him awake far worse than the memories of hell. You owe him this!"

"I know," Sam swallowed, nodding his head, reached a trembling hand out to the door, gripped it and stopped, eyes out the window on the cabin and not on Cas. "What if he doesn't want to see me…" Sam tremulously asked, knew he couldn't bear to be denied his place at Dean's side, for his brother to refuse him, maybe with his last breath. "What if …he thinks I'm going to give in. He might think I've given in already."

"He'll know it's you," Cas bluntly stated before he exited the car, spoke to two men armed with rifles in the yard, amid their conversation he nodded toward the car…toward Sam.

Opening the door, Sam forced himself to get out of the car, felt like he was making the longest, hardest journey of his life as he put one foot in front of the other, crossed the trampled down grass, climbed the stairs, stood at the door to the cabin. Could feel the thud of his heart in his chest as he stepped into the cabin turned to see the bed, the outline of a body under the blankets and a man leaning over that form, hands pressed down on a pillow, a pillow over the face of the person in the bed…suffocating them. But he registered it too slow, couldn't fathom what he was seeing. Almost stumbled as Cas pushed by him.

Giving a growled shout of "NO!", Cas came forward, embedded a knife up to its hilt into Scott's gut, watched the light die in Gabe's little brother's eyes before Cas discarded him to the floor. Turning to the bed, Cas found that Sam was already there, had broken from his stupor, had removed the pillow from Dean's face. He watched in horror as Sam crumbled to his knees beside the bed, wrapped his arms across his brother's chest and his head, leaned forward until his forehead touched Dean's and cried out his brother's name with love and utter devastation. "Dean. Dean. Please don't go."

Stumbling backwards, Cas felt the same way he had in that moment when Raphael tore him asunder, like he was shattering into a thousand shards. He had failed, had risked everything on Sam, on a brotherly bond, on _love _and it had, once again, cost him. But this was a new, crueler version than before. Everything before was everything but Dean, everything but the man he had come to respect, who became his brother. Now it was a loss of everything, all he loved and counted on. All because he had left Dean vulnerable, had trusted the other members of their group, had trusted them to act like Dean would, to lead with Dean's example. Instead one of Dean's trusted soldiers had seen his chance to exact revenge, to strike Dean when he was most vulnerable…was on death's door anyways.

It only made it worse that Cas knew Scott had acted out of love, love for his own brother, out of grief so vast that there was no soothing it. '_Grief he has passed onto me…onto Sam,_' he somberly realized, watching Sam fall apart, hearing Sam's words crumble into a sob. A sob that was akin to the pain of when Cas transcended into Hell, tore into him, clutched onto him, sought to render him apart. Spoke of a depth of despair that hell knew only too.

"It can't end like this, Dean. It can't. I'm here. We're together," Sam rasped, clutching tighter to his brother, tears falling on Dean's too still face. Raising his eyes to look at his brother, his trembling hand caressed his brother's cold face, willing a response. "Do something!" he shouted.

It took Cas a moment to realize that the demand was being made of him, remembered Sam demanding that he restore Dean to health once before. He couldn't even get the "I can't" to even form in his head this time. He took a few more steps back as if he could distance himself, could escape what he couldn't face. Sam didn't turn to him, merely shook his head in anger or frustration or defeat. The man's next words, however, were not meant for him.

"God, I know you're not gone, that you're still here," Sam fervently began, head bowing to rest on Dean's shoulder, his grip on his brother not loosening. "I know I've turned my back on You, was even…against you. And I'm sorry…I know …I know that doesn't mean much but You are just to forgive us our sins if we confess them, right? And I'm confessing them, all of them, how wrong I've been, how selfish I've been, how …lost I've been. You know all of it. And you know too what's in Dean's heart, his goodness…his strength. He's tried…" his voice cracked and he swallowed hard but pressed on. "He's tried to do Your will, I know He has. Tried to save everyone…but himself. But You can…You can save him. Nothing is impossible with You. I know that. And You reward the righteous ...and maybe continuing to live…like this….it doesn't seem like much a reward for Dean…but I need him…this world still needs him. You said if I ask something in your name and believe in You, it would happen. I believe in You and I'm asking, let Dean stay with me. Please God, don't take my brother from me, not again, not when I thought I would never see him again. Please. Please."

Cas was humbled by Sam's prayer, by a prayer from a sinner of the first order..a prayer that he hadn't the faith to utter anymore. He didn't think anyone was out there listening, hadn't been for a long while. Dean's harsh intake of breath proved him wrong a thousand times over.

Pulling back to see Dean's face, Sam called out in hope, wonder, need, "Dean! Dean, you with me?" scrambling to take a seat on the side of the bed, hands bracketing his brother's face. And he sobbed when his brother's eyes fluttered, when the green eyes he had missed so severely looked upon him in confusion…and then joy. More sobs tore through Sam and he leaned forward, head resting against Dean, chin on his brother's collarbone and cried…in joy…in love…in gratitude…and with restored faith. "Dean," he affectionately murmured, laughed when Dean's wisp of air became, "Sam…my." "Yeah, I'm here. It's me. It's still just me."

"No…free…loaders?"

Hearing his brother's words, Sam could only shake his head and grip tighter to the best part of him.

"Tired…" Dean wheezed and Sam knew that it was beyond physical exhaustion, spoke of tired of fighting, of standing alone.

"You can rest for awhile, Dean. I've got your back, big brother. I'm not going anywhere, not again. We'll fight together from now on, OK."

"'kay." Dean mumbled, unconsciousness laying claim to him but not before he managed to wrap his fingers in Sam's shirt.

Cas slipped from the room, left the cabin feeling lost…and found. Set adrift and anchored… ashamed and justified. He had once believed God was still to be found and he had searched for Him until he lost faith. And just like the stories of old, it was the return of a prodigal son that was cause for celebration. Remembered the days of celebration in heaven…when one lost soul was found. Knew that somewhere, God was still keeping tally, and still welcoming wayward sons home with open arms. Cas found that he wanted to be one…just didn't know the road home.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing! I know I could end the story here but I kept thinking of ideas of how Sam's appearance changes things plus I put you all though all those downer chapters I thought you deserved some uplifting ones to counter them. I might not be able to keep up the daily posts through to the end of the story but I'll try. I hope you continue to enjoy this AU.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	20. Chapter 20: Vigilant

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 20: Vigilant

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It felt like a hallucination, Dean there, within his reach, his brother's hair under his stroking fingers, his brother's face pressed into the pillow, Dean's even breathing of sleep nearly the only sound in the room, beside Sam's own in and out of air.

'_If it's a dream, it's the best one I've had in three years.' _Which makes his eyes well, not with tears of pain but overwhelming joy. This was too good to be true, more than he deserved and he would put a stake through the heart of anyone or anything that sought to tear him and Dean apart ever again. Fully aware that the last people who did that were in that very room: him and Dean.

'_Not again_,' Sam vows even as a yawn cracks his mouth open wide, as the adrenaline he's lived on the past day, heck, past three years is bleeding away, is leaving him just like his misery is. But he can't leave Dean's side, won't, not even to stretch out on the floor, would be too far from Dean if his brother needed him. And as much as he tells himself they aren't in jeopardy of a croat attack in this camp, in Dean's cabin, the attack on Dean by members of Dean's own little army prove that letting his guard down isn't an option, not even here. That he has to be vigilant, always vigilant so what he loves best doesn't get taken away again.

Ignoring the ache in his too long immobile bad leg, he stands up, does more of an old man stumble around the mattress but utilizes every morsel of coordination he has left to carefully sink down on top of the covers at his brother's side without shifting the wounded man, or the mattress under him. Manages fine and then he's down on the mattress, hasn't enjoyed this luxury for about a year. But creature comforts pale in comparison to the company he's presently keeping.

He remembers sharing a bed with Dean during their childhood, their Dad in the 2nd motel room bed across the way. Dean and him whispering to each other, telling stories, jokes, discussing things about their days that their father had no use for: girls they liked, games they won, fears they had. Sam vividly recalls now the rare times that Dean got hurt or sick, how his father would look down at them both, pointedly say to him, "Your brother needs your help. Think you can take care of him, Sammy?" And his response was always a heartfelt, "Yes sir."

When Dean moans in his sleep like he's in pain or afraid, Sam reaches out, tenderly skims his fingers through Dean's hair until his brother settles back into a sleep. Pulling his hand back and tucking it under his pillow, Sam's eyes stay transfixed on Dean's face, hates the crease of pain he detects, the dark bruises under his brother's eyes, the few small facial scars his brother's accumulated in their time apart. Nothing noticeable…to anyone but him, who knew Dean better than anyone…used to anyways. And he vows then and there to take care of his brother, to do what his father would want, what he should have done all along. "I'll take care of him, Dad, I will," he pledges to the quiet room.

He's dreamed of Dean in their years apart, in the few snatches of sleep he got, some memories of their childhood, of the hunts, and some twisted tales his mind made up to torture him, tell him Dean hated him, had left him. Or worse, that Dean was dead. Those particular ones had him shouting awake, time or two bringing croats down on his head. But it had felt good, therapeutic, spilling blood, being merciless, of channeling his terror into fury, into bloodletting. He enjoyed the killing. …and not just then.

'_Dean might not want me to stay…not when he figures out I'm more animal than man anymore, savage than saint, that I've been drowning in blood and violence and I relish taking lives.' _And that fear claws at him for an hour, before he almost wants to shake Dean from sleep, confess all of his sins and know whether Dean will offer him absolution or rejection. But doesn't…because Dean's health is more important than his piece of mind, because safeguarding Dean's life is more valuable than his brother's forgiveness, because, no matter what Dean wants…_'I'm not leaving._ _He wants me to go , he'll have to kill me.' _And it's comforting to know he's got a plan in place, that either way, he'll live out the rest of his days, no matter how few they are, at his brother's side.

Sleep overtakes him then, deep and dreamless. And he doesn't feel, an hour later, the weak fingers that carefully trace the scar on his face or the achingly apologetic and tender, "Sammy".

Sam doesn't have to. He already knows that he's home.

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Even through the haze of sleep, the movement nearby catches Sam's attention, jolts him mentally from the grey of sleep to the moment, to remembering where he was, and more importantly, who he was with. '_And if that's someone trying to take out Dean again, they're gonna be dead before they hit the floor.' _He's ready to open his eyes and pounce on the approaching person when a familiar voice wryly says, "You play possum worse than Dean."

Cas watches as Sam's lucid eyes open and land on him, almost as if Sam is assessing _him_ for the potential danger he is to Dean. Keeping his umbrage to himself, Cas announces, "'He's running a fever, need to get it down, maybe get him to take some pills for the pain."

And that has Sam shooting up in the bed, peering over Dean's back that's to him, down to his brother's face, his sweat covered, pallid face. "Crap, I shouldn't have fallen asleep." Carefully and slowly, he climbs out of bed, circles around to Cas who's already sank into the chair Sam occupied earlier, is taking a wet cloth to Dean's face with infinite care.

As much as he wants to be the one to take care of Dean, Sam knows Cas has earned the privilege, has been there with Dean when he wasn't, and the two of them…he didn't know what they had been through but he didn't doubt it had been along the same lines that he had: blood, fear, savagery, pain. '_But not loneliness_,' he qualifies. '_They didn't feel that with every breath, like I did._' And he knows that wasn't because of Dean's choices, was because of his own, because he could have found Dean, could have brow beaten Bobby into telling him where Dean was. But he hadn't. At first out of hurt, then out of anger, and finally out of love …because like he had told Ruby after he had nearly choked Dean to death on the floor of that high priced hotel: "Dean's better off as far away from me as possible."

He had believed that, heart and soul, more than ever. Would have never sought out Dean…but hadn't the strength to not go to his brother when Cas came for him, when he feared Dean would die, that it was his last chance to see his brother. But he couldn't let his selfishness do harm to Dean, couldn't force Dean to forgive and forget all he had done, to think Dean would welcome him back and they could ever recapture the trust they once had. That Dean wouldn't and maybe shouldn't want his help when he was defenseless.

But apparently Cas didn't get that memo because an hour later, he wants Sam to take over for him, to sit at Dean's side, to offer gentle ministrations and soothing words. To do what once had come naturally, had been instinctive, that he would insist he do for Dean and none other. But everything had changed, had been destroyed and had yet to be remade.

"Cas I don't think….maybe there's someone else…" Sam stammers, face colored with shame at Cas' startled expression.

Taken off guard by Sam's denial, Cas feels anger first, like he did in the car when Sam almost chickened out at coming to Dean, but then he remembers the scene he walked into today, of Dean peacefully at sleep and Sam lying beside him on top of the covers, keeping guard over his brother, of the protective assessment Sam probed him with when he dared to draw near Dean. And he knows it's not a lack of love or concern prompting Sam's refusal but all out fear.

'_Fear that he'll hurt Dean, do what he promised me he wouldn't do. Ah, crap, I have to fix this_,' Cas realizes with no little trepidation. Dean would kick his butt if he did something to push Sam away, but worse than that, Dean would take it personally if Sam kept his distance, would think it was a fault in him, not a fear in his little brother.

Holding the damp rag out to Sam like he's passing him a Olympic baton, Cas says, "Dean would want it to be you."

Sam bites his lip, doesn't take the rag but looks to Dean, a Dean that's so weak, helpless that it hurts Sam to see. And the thought of anyone beside Cas seeing it, tending to Dean's wounds, it terrifies him, makes the decision for him. Taking the rag from Cas' hands, he silently nods his thanks, knows there aren't enough words to tell Cas exactly how much all this means to him, finding him, bringing him to Dean, trusting him with Dean.

Identifying exactly what Sam's silent gesture means, Cas companionably squeezes Sam's shoulder, gives a small smile, and then he leaves. He doesn't have a thing to do but knows Sam needs to realize where he belongs. That Dean needs his brother, has for four years but never more than at this moment. And for Dean's well-being, Cas has done harder things than give up Dean's care to someone else…but not many. Because Dean's been his responsibility the years Sam's been gone, has been his _brother_, in all the ways that matter. So walking away when Dean's vulnerable, like he did a week ago when he went for Sam, like he did last night, like he did just now, it comes from a strength, not of willpower but love.

'_Course if Sam lets Dean bust even one stitch, I'm gonna bench Sam…right after I knock all his teeth out_,' Cas vows and that defensive strategy puts a smile on his face. Because, yeah, Sam might be back but Cas wasn't going anywhere, knew that, even back when the brothers had been close, their own brand of BFFs, Dean had offered Cas not only his friendship but brotherhood. So Cas was still taking his best friend/guardian angel/2nd in command role in Dean's life as serious as he always had. And first order of business in that was to make sure Dean realized he was loved, even when he wasn't able to maintain his fearless leader disguise.

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Dean doesn't recoil from his touch any more than he did the night before, but Sam makes sure his strokes with the now wet rag are light, skim over Dean's feverish forehead, down his neck, are not abrasive. Tries to make his voice come out soothing, his words reassuring as his brother's head tosses a little on the pillow, as his body trembles under the onslaught of the fever and the grievous wounds Sam has yet to see. "Hey, hey, easy Dean. You're not alone," because that's Dean's worst fear, to be left alone… '_And that's what I did to him, I left him alone, chose Ruby and my ego over him. But this isn't about me! It's about Dean, about what he needs to feel safe.'_ "Cas he…he just left for a little while, he'll be back," because maybe Dean's restlessness is in reaction to Cas' departure.

But Dean's agitation rises instead of dissipates, he shifts more on the bed and then moans as his wounded body protests the movement. And Sam can't sit there and let Dean be in pain, greater pain. Has always had a pathetically low threshold for witnessing Dean's pain. Cupping his brother's cheek with his hand, he says as gently as he can, his words nearly breathless, like he will take them back if they do more harm than good. "It's Sam. I'm …here with you. But I don't…I don't know what to do for you," and that failure cracks his voice, has him bowing his head and blinking back tears.

Tramping down the urge to go to pieces, Sam exhales loudly raises his eyes to his brother's face and startles as Dean eyes, dull with pain, hold his gaze. "Hey, hey, how are you? You need anything?" he quickly asks, will get Dean whatever he wants, will raid a croat infested city for a slice of pie if that's what Dean desires.

Dean, swallowing noticeably, tries to moisten his throat as well as gather enough strength to talk. His voice, when it breaks the silence, comes out as a rasping croak. "Thought I …dreamed you."

Sam emits a sound that's supposed to be a laugh but is closer to a sob. "Me in your dreams…I think I should be scared."

But Dean doesn't reply to Sam's joke about his often lascivious dreams, is too mesmerized with his little brother's presence. "You're really here," he states, in awe and contentment.

Sam nods his head, hoarsely declares, "I am. I'm here. I'm with you, Dean."

"Missed you, Sammy," Dean murmurs before his eyes slip shut and sleep takes him again.

Bowing his head to rest against Dean's, Sam whispers, "Me too, Dean. You'll never know how much." Because even if he told Dean, Dean wouldn't believe him, his big brother has never known his own worth. But Sam did.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and for the so wonderful compliments on last chapter! I was nervous about that one and you guys were just so generous. 

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	21. Chapter 21: New Day

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 21: New Day

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It's Sunday afternoon and if they weren't Winchesters, if it wasn't the apocalypse, if they had cable, they'd be watching tv, some sports game, chips and soda and pie, for Dean, laid out on a table within arm's length. But as things stand, there's no tv, no sports game, no junk food and no pie. Just a couch that's losing its stuffing and its one side balanced by a piece of 2x4 wood. And an occupant not decked out in sport's team colors but sporting not so sterile bandages and a complexion so white it's like a beacon in the room.

Hair still ringing wet from the world's fastest shower that Cas had brow beaten him into taking, Sam hurriedly passed Cas on the steps like a changing of the guard but now he can't move from the doorway, stands there frozen, fear and disbelief, hope and happiness tumbling inside him, still wondering if this is for real, if Dean was there, if he was. If this could be happening, him with Dean. Dean coming back from the brink of death because he begged him to, because God allowed him to. Fears that if he draws closer to the vulnerable figure of his brother curled up on the couch, he'll trip some switch, make it all go away, doom himself to the life that was never worth living.

But neither can he stay away, has played that bitter game for three years, can't play it another second. On quiet feet he approaches his brother, sinks to his knees by the couch, lifts his hand to touch Dean but hesitates. Doesn't know if Dean would appreciate him seemingly taking advantage of his vulnerable state now that he's more aware, may find it a betrayal…and there's been too much of that. Pulling his hand back, Sam coils it around his own knee and simply watches his brother sleep, revels in the fact Dean's alive, that he's _thisclose_ to him and the world hasn't imploded in on itself. Dean even smiled at him, called him Sammy, said he missed him.

'_Sammy_,' it's Sam's favorite word in the world. Took its unbearable absence for him to admit that. To realize 'Sammy' was Dean's way of saying I love you, of offering himself to his little brother, of connecting them. And Sam wishes he could reciprocate that gift, give Dean something he needs, wants, can't live without. Almost startles when he realizes his brother's green eyes are inspecting him. Fearing Dean, since he's only dipped out of consciousness a few times in the day and a half that Sam's been there, might be confused, Sam's about to reassure Dean again that it's just him in his meat suit, that he didn't say the Big Yes, that he's his Sammy.

"Guess I'm being a couch hog," Dean says, his voice so rough with weariness and pain that Sam flinches. Sam's eyes and mouth go wide when Dean makes to _sit up_.

"Whoa, whoa, don't move Dean," Sam worriedly entreaties, instinctively reaching out for his brother, touching Dean, stilling Dean's movements. Can see the mural of pain cross Dean's face at the small movement he managed before he cut him off. "Just lie still."

"We're civilized…use furniture," Dean manages to say with a sliver of that teasing Sam's been so horribly bereft of. Makes Sam's snort come out more a hitching breath that could go to laughter…or tears. "You civilized, it must be the end times."

Is so friggin' proud of himself for earning a smirk from Dean, for using Dean's dark humor back at him, for this slice of normalcy, of them being them again that he feels his eyes welling. Wonders what Dean will do if he goes and cries on his shoulder, again. This time while he's still awake, not half in the grave. And that thought has him shifting his hand from Dean's arm to rest tenderly on Dean's head, unconsciously his fingers push the wayward bangs off Dean's forehead because Dean hates when bangs act like bangs, likes them spikey and cool. And it's just one in a billion things he knows about Dean.

Pulling his hands back to his lap, he sits there, watching Dean watching him. Wonders when the inquisition will start, how long the quiet can hold all the things unsaid between them. It's almost more than either of them can stand when they both say in snych: "I'm sorry…"

There are no smirks or smiles and it's too painful for either of them to continue. And all the other needed to ever hear.

"You're right, you are being a couch hog," Sam tries for lightness but his voice cracks with too much emotion, with his need to be close to Dean, to cement whatever truce they've come to, to know that this is real…and Dean's not going anywhere. Not without him.

Not saying more, he stands up, gently helps Dean sit up but prevents his brother from shifting against the back of the couch. Instead, Sam slips into the end of the couch and carefully resettles Dean back down so his brother's head rests on his legs. And though Dean shifts a bit, until his wounded leg's bent at a better angle and his back's to Sam, Dean succumbs to the security of his brother's presence.

As Dean's head heavily sinks into Sam's thigh, when his brother lets out the kind of exhale he does when they've both come through something horrible in one piece, Sam feels his own nerves uncoil, knows Dean's not going to reject him or the refuge he's offering.

"You're still a girl, Sammy." Dean grumbles, even as he closes his eyes, feels like the pain doesn't matter, that he just might get some actual sleep after years of insomnia.

Sam laughs and it's the real deal. He's too happy to argue with Dean, parries back instead, "Yeah, love you too Dean." And when no response comes he looks down, sees his brother's profile and knows Dean's zonked out, didn't hear his words. But it doesn't really matter because Sam can tell him tomorrow, now has time to have the million and one conversations he's dreamed of having with his brother if they ever met again.

Drinking in the sight of Dean, asleep on his lap, he pulls the covers up over his brother's shoulders and realizes he selfishly wants the night to fly by, can't wait until he and Dean can talk again, and it doesn't even register with him that, for the first time in years, he's actually looking forward to a new day.

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It's a few hours later when Dean hasn't moved a millimeter and Cas has refitted Dean's mattress with clean sheets that Sam decides his brother's field trip to the couch is over. So with infinite care he picks Dean up at back and legs, shifts the precious weight in his arms and crosses to the bed, gently nestles Dean back under the covers. Thinks they'll have a quiet morning, just the two of them, maybe Cas will pop in and actually stay, be around when Dean's awake.

But Sam's belief is proven wrong when a revolving string of visitors soon start showing up, makes him realize that he has to actually _share_ his brother with other people.

When Chuck Shurley walks through Dean's door, Sam does a double take. "Ah..hey, Chuck," he uncertainly greets, isn't sure of the prophet's welcome, suspects that Chuck was privy to everything he has done in the intervening years, not to mention kicking open the Cage.

Eyes going wide, Chuck exclaims, "Holy crap, Sam! You're you and you're here." Then he crosses the distance that separates them and hugs Sam without permission.

Before Sam can flinch away from the physical contact that feels so foreign to him, Chuck releases him, showers him with a beaming smile. "I'm glad Cas found you."

"Did you…" Sam begins but Chuck quickly corrects his assumption.

"No! No…my prophet visions just…" Chuck hesitates and when he speaks again his voice is lower, holds compassion, "They stopped after the Cage got opened. Well…I had one more."

Sam tenses, guiltily guesses, "About me…ditching Dean."

Chuck's eyes narrow at Sam's statement. "No, it was about a year or so ago, was about Dean getting killed." Stops speaking as he realizes that tidbit will freak Sam out and by Sam's raised eyebrows, it has. "But he didn't…get killed, I mean. Obviously," his eyes shooting to the unconscious but alive man behind Sam.

"But you had a vision about Dean _dying_?" Sam presses, is starved for any information on the time he was apart from Dean, especially if Dean's life had been in danger.

Chuck nods. "Yeah. And I'd like to think it's because of me he didn't. I mean…a prophet should at least have the perks of changing what he sees. Especially when I crossed three croat overrun states to save him." Then he blushes as he realizes he's bragging to Sam, of all people, but Sam accepts his boast with a wide smile.

"You saved him?" awe and relief in Sam's assumption.

Chuck shrugs like it was nothing. "He probably would have saved himself, you know, pulled one of those last minute saves out of his butt."

But Sam's not letting Chuck's actions be downplayed, solemnly offers up his gratitude. "Thank you, Chuck." Then he shifts to his right, allows Chuck to cross to Dean's side, like the prophet's passed some kind of test, has been granted access to Dean that he might not have before his story.

The rest of Dean's visitors have to be satisfied with being allowed to gain only near proximity to Dean, what with Sam standing guard over his brother like the strictest secret service agent. And though all of them give him a once over, none of them convey that, 'we know who you are and what Dean thought you did' vibe. Which means that Cas' wasn't lying when he said no one knew about him, about what he had done to the world or to Dean. That no one knew Dean's backstory either.

The beautiful, petite brunette woman, however, bypasses Sam's security check, doesn't give Sam more than a glance before she skirts to the other side of the bed, leans over Dean and holds his face gently in her hands before she kisses him tenderly on the lips. Then she whispers something in Dean's ear Sam can't make out. Only then does she stand up, acknowledge Sam's presence.

"Brother, huh? Didn't know he had one?" a challenge in her tone, like she would deem if he had the right to be at Dean's side.

It's one of the moment's Sam's dreaded: Proving his worth to Dean's new found friends. "Yeah…we….got separated." Didn't mention that it wasn't the wide spread croat virus that did the separating.

"Un huh," is Risa non-committal reply. "So you crawled out of the woodwork now, convenient timing."

"Cas he…." Sam has to clear his throat to continue. "Cas found me, told me Dean had been…was…" But he breaks off, too fresh a terror to speak of lightly, can't fight the need to look over his shoulder, to reassure himself that Dean's there, within his touch. And when he forces himself to look away from Dean, faces the woman again, her expression has softened. She's noticed his neurotic need to check on Dean and it means something to her.

"You staying?" Risa inquisitions.

Sam can't tell which way she's hoping he'll answer but he gives the truth. "Yes," dares her to contest it.

But she doesn't contest it, smiles instead. "Good. Maybe you can knock some self-preservation sense into him," jerking her head back to Dean but as judgmental as her statement is, when she squeezes Dean's hand, her open affection is unmistakable then she leaves as abruptly as she arrived.

More visitors come in her wake. And as much as Sam kinda loves them all for loving his brother, he wants them all gone, wants it to just be him and Dean, has friggin' missed being stuck in the Impala for endless miles to the next hunt, just the two of them. Of having Dean to himself, of their world consisting of mostly just them with a small, familiar but infrequent list of guest stars in their lives. Over the past years, he had made a game out of counting the hours, even days, he had wasted by ditching Dean, either by college, his own hunt, or Ruby's brand of following Lilith's trail/training in the dead of night while Dean slept, while Dean thrashed with Hell memories.

It's Cas who calls a halt to the never-ending line of visitors, escorts the last of them out the door, gives Sam a wink and leaves the brothers alone. "Cas winks now?" he says aloud with a huff of amused disbelief.

"And fists bumps," a hoarse voice supplies and Sam's wide eyes drop to Dean.

"Hey, you're awake again. You just…."

"Awhile," Dean admits, woke to the droning voice of the last visitor and decided playing possum was a better option than waking up and dooming himself to another hour of the guy's rambling.

Sam smirks, remembers Cas' possum jab and realizes Cas knew Dean was awake, was why he ended the visiting circuit, for Dean's sake…not his. And the wink, was that a brassy I-know-what-you'll-soon-know or a have-fun-with-your-brother gesture?

"Thirsty?" Sam asks, and when he gets a nod from Dean, he grabs the water glass on the nightstand, slips his hand behind Dean's neck and carefully levers his brother's head up for Dean to take a few swallows of water. When Dean's got his meager fill, he resettles Dean's head back onto the pillow and slides his hand to the side of Dean's neck. "You still feel hot," waits for Dean crack innuendo to come but it never does, which makes him go on alert, use his openly concerned tone. "I'll get some cold water to cool you down." But when he goes to get up from the chair, a weak hand clutches at his wrist, halting his motions instantly.

"How are you here?" Dean rasps, his emotions tripping him up, peeking out all over the place at this unforeseen miracle that's close enough to touch.

Sam knows by the crease in Dean's forehead that it's been the question Dean's been plagued with but hadn't had the chance to ask yet. But Sam, he's just relieved Dean's question isn't why are you here. "Cas found me, brought me to you."

That raises a thousand questions but Dean can't voice them, is again fading fast to his body's weakness. "I owe him…big time."

"We both do," Sam replies, his well of gratitude to the angel evident.

Dean's eyes are heavy, are doing that fluttery thing and his speech is slurring but he has a few things that need saying. "Sammy."

"Yeah, Dean," because Sam's hanging on Dean's every word.

"Don't go anywhere," Dean half implores and half commands and Sam's smiling that goofy, content smile of his. Even as Sam's replying, Dean's eyes close and he's drifting back into unconsciousness.

"I won't Dean. I won't. You have my word," Sam says softly. And this time, Dean could trust his word. Sam knows the cost all too well of broken promises, of lies and secrets. Vows he will never risk those transgressions, not if it meant losing his place with Dean all over again. Because he could learn from the past, has. And all he wants from his future …he already has it right there with him.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	22. Chapter 22: Mixed Signals

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 22: Mixed Signals

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It is selfish, Dean realizes that too late. That it is about what he wants, not what Sam needs. And what Sam needs is rest, doesn't need to be startled out of sleep because Dean is feeling needy, wants Sam to wake up, talk to him, prove to him that he is there, that this isn't some vivid dream brought on by Cas' good drugs.

But his touch on his brother's arm, it is as unwelcome as an attack, has Sam coming out of his chair, fist swinging. Dean knows in that moment that touch isn't something Sam's used to, welcomes. Not in the life he's lived the past years. '_That I've sentenced him to_.' Then his thoughts fly right out the window when Sam's fist clips him on the jaw. It's not Sam's best shot, his brother pulled his punch at the last second. And if he didn't still feel half in the grave, he would have shaken it off, instead of almost blacking out.

Horrified at what he's done, Sam's torn between reaching out for Dean and running for the door, getting away before he can hurt his own brother again. Do what he vowed to Cas and himself he would never do again. But his instincts when his brother's hurt have always been the same: do whatever he has to do to ease Dean's pain. And crazy as it was, Dean usually found comfort in his little brother's presence. '_Just goes to show how unstable Dean has always been.'_

But Sam stays, murmurs, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. Dean..I didn't mean…" hands hovering above Dean's face as his brother's eyes flutter and his jaw's sporting inflamed skin from a blow delivered by his hand.

Holding back unconsciousness by sheer will power, Dean rolls his head a bit, shakes off the black edging his vision and taunts, "That all you…got?" His joke is supposed to earn him an affectionate insult, not a handful of little brother.

At first, Sam barks out a laugh but it crumbles into a sob and then Sam's fiercely but gently hugging Dean like he has no intentions of letting go…ever.

Raising his arms to coil around his brother's shaking form, Dean closes his eyes, has the proof he's wanted all along, knows this is for real, that Sam is. His voice hoarse not from weakness in this moment but his unruly emotions he says, "If it's any consolation, it's been a bunch of crappy years for me too."

"Really, I saw Risa," Sam returns jokingly with he's making no gesture to let Dean go, clutches to his brother in his arms, of the gift he's been given.

"Ok, it had some perks," Dean seemingly concedes for Sam's sake.

Sam chuckles but can't release Dean, not yet. "Dean I'm …"

'_Sorry_' Though they've said it already, for so many sins. So Dean cuts Sam off, confesses, "If anyone's sorry, it's me. I was wrong…about everything, Sammy," his voice cracking on his brother's name. "Us splitting up, me waiting too long to say yes to Michael."

That gets Sam jerking back so he can see his brother's face, says in nearly a breathless accusation, "What?! No, Dean, you saying yes to Michael would have been the last straw for me."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asks, his confusion evident.

Sitting up, claiming a spot on the bed at Dean's hip, Sam's eyes narrow in worry and shame as they take in Dean's pinched features. "Did I hurt you?" his fingers tracing Dean's jaw where his fist impacted but Dean catches his hand, stills it.

"Sam, what did you mean?" Dean presses.

Fighting down his shame, Sam holds Dean's eye contact, admits his weakness. "The only way I had the strength to keep saying no was knowing you were still ok, hadn't said yes to Michael, were still fighting. That you would be disappointed in me if I said yes."

Dean looks away, ashamed that he thought the worst of Sam, hadn't questioned Zachariah's bullcrap lie. "Yeah, about that…."

"I know," Sam quickly says without blame.

And when Dean's eyes hit Sam's, he knows Sam knows he thought he said yes, had been so stupidly quick to believe it.

"Sam…" Dean starts, doesn't know how he can make up for his lack of faith in Sam.

But Sam doesn't need an apology for Dean believing what almost was, needs answers of his own. "Hold up, 'waiting too long to say yes to Michael' ….but you didn't say yes… right?" cold fear settling over him at the thought of Michael using his brother.

"Not soon enough. The angels, they're gone, Sam. There's no do-overs."

Relieved at that outcome, that Dean's yes came too late, Sam gives a small, honest smile, declares, "I don't want one."

Dean frowns, counters, "But you just said, last couple of years…"

"Made me get my head on straight," Sam bluntly states. "And me being about apart from you, it kept you safe." '_Hurt like half my soul had been amputated but it was better for you, Dean._'

But Dean doesn't agree. "Safe?!" he derogatorily snorts. "Funny word for this life I'm living."

"Safer than where I've been." Because Sam wouldn't wish the horrible way he's existed on Dean, heck, only on the worst of his enemies.

Sam's statement kicks opens the door Dean hasn't wanted to breech, just didn't know how to until then. Dean carefully asks, "Where exactly have you been, Sam? Because you're all scrawny. Do I even want to know what you've been eating the past year," poses it as a joke but he feels sick to his stomach with guilt, because he's never gone without food these past years.

"Everything gross you can think of." At Dean's raised eyebrow he nearly chuckles, clarifies, "Except Long Pork."

"That's a relief…I'd hate for this fine body of mine to become your next meal," Dean shoots back with a smirk.

To which Sam deadpans, "You're still not funny."

"Yeah, yeah, I am," Dean boasts like he always does, like Sam has missed so badly.

Sam can only nod his head, as if he's disappointed Dean's his brother instead of thanking his lucky stars. Sobers as he inquires, already fearing the answer, "Bobby?" The way Dean stiffens and his eyes flash with grief and guilt tells Sam his instincts were right, that Bobby was gone.

Watching Sam bite his lip, bow his head, Dean knows he doesn't need to spell it out for Sam. But he owes his brother another apology for taking someone he loved away from him like he had their Dad. "Sorry, Sammy. I told him all along he was picking the wrong team, to go find you."

"He did." At Dean's startled look, Sam reveals, "I sent him back to you. Ordered him to take care of you." Remembers Bobby's reluctance to leave him, how he had said Dean needed him, how the older man had left after he told him what really happened in the hotel when Dean found him and Ruby, about how he walked away from Dean because he knew he couldn't trust himself, didn't want to hurt Dean. That the last thing he wanted to do was bring the devil right to Dean's doorstep, would rather die than have that happen.

But Dean's still stuck on Sam's words, his brother's notion of doing the right thing. "Take care of me?! He shoulda taken care of himself. He didn't give my location away and they shot him for his trouble, Sam."

It's just how Sam thought things would end for Bobby, says so the next moment. "It's how he wanted to die…fighting…saving you."

"He got his wish," Dean bitterly concedes, would undo that if he could.

'_And he kept his promise to me.' _Sam silently sends a thank you out to Bobby Singer, wherever he is, for that. "So Chuck?" eyebrows raised, wondering how Dean will spin that reunion.

"Had a vision, do you believe that? Then the idiot came thru the crapstorm going on in the country and saved my butt." Dean shakes his head in disbelief. "Been my supply manager ever since."

"You've made a good life here for these people," Sam deems, can't quiet the selfish, pained voice in his head. '_For yourself…without me_.'

But Dean's eyes darken and he snorts. "_Good life?_ Are you smoking something, Sam! We got the zombie apocalypse going on, I royally piss off everyone in camp on a daily basis. Did it badly enough that one of them tried to murder me. Yeah, it's a regular episode of Happy Days around here."

Sam, however, sees what Dean doesn't. "Chuck risked his life to save you, Cas came for me, not knowing what he'd find but trusting you'd want to see me, half the camp's paraded through here, worriedly checking up on you. Dean, you mean something to these people." '_And the only one surprised by that…is you, Dean_.'

"They're delusional, expect me to be their savior." Then Dean's eyes drop to the blanket and he mumbles, "They have no clue I started all this."

"We started it," Sam corrects, resting his hand on Dean's shoulder. His voice breaks a little when he says, "I can't believe we brought this down on the world."

"We had lots of help from the ultimate rebel angel and heaven's ego winged executive board. But I got some ideas about how to end it," Dean says with more confidence than he feels because Sam needs hope and that is Dean's job, to dust his little brother off when he takes a spill, tell him things will get better and then find some way to make it true.

"End it how?" Sam asks, his voice going up an octave telling Dean his little brother isn't gullible enough to believe that his big brother could solve everything.

"The Colt," Dean announces brazenly, like Sam should suddenly take back all his reservation about his plans.

Instead of raining down accolades for Dean's brilliance, Sam gets that familiar crease in his forehead. "The Colt? I thought it was gone."

Between mentioning The Colt and Sam's question, it hits Dean: What he had been prepared to DO with The Colt. That he had been all set to kill his brother, kill Sam with it. _'And if Sam ever finds that out…he'll leave and he won't come back and I won't ever earn his trust again_. _Or his love._' And that just can't happen, has Dean deflecting, "Cas had some sources that said differently. Hey, where is Cas by the way? I'd like to talk to him."

Startled at the abrupt request, Sam stammers, "Yeah…sure..I'll get him…" as he stands up. But he waits a beat, hoping that Dean will tell him to stay, that he'll catch up with Cas later. But Dean doesn't, gives him a look Sam can't interrupt. Suddenly, dread settles into Sam's chest as he wonders if Dean's thinking that he shouldn't have shared his plans with him, that Dean fears he'll breakdown someday and say yes. That trusting him was a mistake, will end badly, that he will hurt him. 'I a_lready did that today,_' Sam guiltily reminds himself, eyes resting on Dean's jaw where a bruise is forming.

"I'll find Cas for you," Sam assures before he forces himself to turn his back on Dean, walk out of the cabin in search of the angel Dean knows he can trust. And Sam can't blame Dean for making that choice, hasn't given him any good reasons to choose him in a long time.

'_But I will, I'll earn Dean's trust again. I won't let him down and I won't leave him_.' And he hates to think that Dean might not _want_ him to do any of that.

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Sam finds Cas working on the south perimeter fence. "Dean's asking for you," he tries to say it lightly, like this errand for Dean isn't stirring jealousy within him.

But Cas doesn't turn away from his work, uses his gloved hands to twist the barbwire tighter around the fence pole. "This fence won't do much good if it falls over when the first croat tries to climb it. Course it's doused with holy water and scored with Latin so they won't be having a good time if they get in contact with it."

Sam's shocked at Cas' inaction, thought Cas would drop everything and go to Dean. He knows how worried the angel's been for Dean, that it was loyalty to Dean that had Cas tracking him down, bringing him back here. "Yeah fortifications…are important," he lamely rejoins, just to say something.

When Cas seems on the verge of walking further down the perimeter, Sam steps into his path. "Cas I don't…if you don't want me to be there when you're with Dean, I won't be. I know I've lost the right to have dibs on Dean. I know that."

Cas turns to Sam with anger, but it's all for himself. "I lost faith Sam. I …I gave up on him. Counted Dean lost already. I wasn't finding you to save him…but for you…" Breaking off, he shakes his head and his hands go to his hips before he coldly says the rest, "….to say goodbye."

Stunned by Cas' outpouring, Sam clears his throat, softly says, "You had faith that I didn't say yes. You had faith that Dean would still be alive when you brought me here. When both Dean and I doubted each other's strength, loyalty, you didn't. Not sure how your old family graded levels of faith but as for your new family..I'd give you an eleven out of ten. "

That earns Sam a small tentative smile from Cas but it flickers out too soon, is replaced by an anguished grimace. "If you hadn't come…if you didn't pray..we would have both lost him."

"Then it's a good thing you came and got me," Sam declares with affection and gratitude.

To this, Cas nods, a little overwhelmed by Sam's forgiveness.

"Course that doesn't mean you get to slack off now. I'm not handling a cranky, hurting Dean all on my own," Sam jokes. Then he hesitates, because what he's contemplating doing next, it wasn't natural between he and Cas _before_ and physical contact hasn't been his thing lately. '_I have to make it my thing again_,' he stridently vows, because he needed to know he wouldn't go around slugging his brother every time Dean startled him. So he slings his arm over Cas' shoulders, and Cas, to his credit, doesn't flinch away but goes where Sam starts directing them…to Dean's cabin. "Cas, don't take this the wrong way but…human you is way better than angel you."

That makes Cas smile a real smile. "Yeah, right, cause I got the stick out of my butt. Dean tells me that a lot."

"Nah," Sam denies, holds Cas' startled gaze. "Angel you was into threatening Dean, human you is set to full on protection detail. Guess you turned out to be his Guardian Angel after all."

Cas' eyes flicker with affection for his charge, but there are flecks of pain there too, at how many times he's failed at that role. But then he takes a page out of Dean's book and uses a joke to deflect his emotions. "Sometimes it's a thankless job."

"Tell me about it," Sam snorts in affectionate agreement. But the truth is, having Dean still around to grouse at them for taking care of him, that is all the thanks Sam or Cas will ever need.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W


	23. Chapter 23: Two Way Street

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 23: Two Way Street

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It's harder than it should be for Cas, stepping into Dean's cabin. Especially without Sam, who had made some lame excuse about needing to stretch his legs even after Cas reassured him that he didn't need his and Dean's chat to happen in solitude.

Not one to shirk his duties, guardian angel duties according to Sam, Cas exhaled and stepped through the doorway…and came up short. Because it wasn't easy seeing Dean lying so still in the bed, eyes closed, though his breathing wasn't labored like it had been when he bailed on him to find Sam, was light with the rhythm of sleep. He told himself he'd come back later but couldn't get his feet to move, to turn around and walk out the door because Dean had _asked for him_, had wanted his company and that meant something to him.

So he settled into the seat by Dean's bed and waited, was at the mercy of his own thoughts only a half an hour before Dean stirred, blinked away sleep.

"Hey," Dean greeted his guest, his voice hoarse mostly from sleep.

"How you feeling?" Cas quietly asked, eyes holding Dean's, ready to analyze Dean's next words for honesty.

Giving up on a ruse of strength, especially with Cas, the great mind reader, staring him down, Dean truthfully gave a vague, "Alright."

Cas knew that's Dean-code for 'I'm down right miserable'. Nodding to the layout of pill bottles on the night table, "You should be taking the aspirin and the …."

"How about some absinthe?" Dean taunted, knew Cas had had one mother of a hangover after spending an evening downing that alcoholic beverage before he swore it off for good.

Cas chuckled at his friend's jeering. "You so enjoyed that, seeing me drunk then sick as a dog. Told everyone in camp I couldn't handle my liquor."

"Truth hurts, my friend," Dean smugly returned, weakly struggling to sit up, lean against the headrest. Didn't protest when Cas transposed his pillows and gently grabbed onto him, helped him gain the new position.

But there was melancholy in Cas' tone as he replied to Dean's last statement, "Yeah, well…getting drunk never did what it was supposed to anyways."

"What was that?" Dean inquired, but knew already. From one alcoholic to another, he knew.

Cas looked down, rubbed his callused palm. "Make the crappy stuff bearable," he quietly admitted before he raised his eyes to Dean, saw the commiseration there like he knew he would.

"Crappy stuff? What crappy stuff? We're having an awesome time," Dean drawled, exchanging heartbreak for levity.

But Cas couldn't flip that switch, wouldn't, had things he needed to say and Dean needed to hear. Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, eyes fixed on Dean's, he tremulously admitted, "I thought you weren't going to make it…I…." He broke off, found it was far easier to tell Sam that he lost faith than Dean. Looking away, he rubbed his eyes that were suspiciously wet.

"Don't feel bad, I thought the same thing," Dean lowly said, had thought he was dying and there was going to be no call back this time. Over and out.

Cas shook his head, wasn't surprised that Dean was trying to pardon him from guilt, the dang jerk. "I'm sorry," and silently the list of all he's sorry for kicked off in his head: '_That you got hurt, that I lost faith, that I've been hiding away too scared to face you'_. Clearing his throat, he confessed almost sheepishly, "I …I kinda lost it." And somehow that was an understatement for how torn up he was at the prospect of losing his best friend.

Rubbing his hand down his face, Cas hung his head. "I thought I was as far removed as I could get." Thought he had gotten to an emotional void rivalled only by his early angel interactions with Dean. Looking up at Dean, his expression pained, he hoarsely continued, "But when you went down…." '_Got shot, when I thought you were dead right then and there in the street. "_Maybe I'm the worst guardian angel ever…not much of a friend either but…we've been in this together, Dean. And I don't regret that. Not for a second." Wanted Dean to know that most of all, that all they had been through, he'd do it again, if Dean was at his side.

"Yeah, 'cause you're an idiot," Dean insulted with a fond smile, didn't know what he would have done without Cas these past years, had a good idea and it wasn't pretty, at all.

Cas' smile was small and soon faded into an expression of determination. "Maybe, doesn't change the fact that you're a brother to me and I'm not ready to lose you. I've done so many illogical and rebellious and downright stupid things because of you and for you and at your side…_you owe me." _The last not said out of anger but desperate petition.

"I know I do," Dean earnestly, solemnly agreed, sad for the sacrifices and hurt his friendship had inflicted on Cas.

Instantly Cas knew Dean wasn't taking his words as he had meant them. "I'm not talking…Dean, I mean…not getting yourself killed, not giving up. You owe me a long lifetime of friendship."

Dean understood exactly what Cas wanted, surely felt the same back, didn't want Cas dead or far from his side. "You're sounding awful needy," he quirked, couldn't bear for it to stay serious.

Abruptly, Cas stood up. '_If Dean thinks this is a joke_…' Started to walk away before he knew his own intentions but Dean grabbed his shirt coattails, halted his huffy departure.

Eyes clashing with Cas', Dean countered with a truth that weighed on him, "Dude, it goes both ways now. I'm not the only mortal one in this dynamic duo we have going on here. And it's not like you've been Mr. Safety First," reprimand carrying in his tone.

Cas' eyebrows climbed at Dean's rebuke and his voice rose in frustration. "How can I be when I have to drag you out of the line of fire?! The risks you take…." Shaking his head at the slide show of Dean's close calls, he clung to the hope that Sam's presence would stop all that, diffuse Dean's hurt and self-destructiveness. "Risks you **used to take**," he empathized like he was making a mandate, that all that was now in the past.

Feathers ruffled at Cas' judgment, at his friend's stark perceptiveness, Dean railed back, "I didn't ask you to save me! Especially not at the risk of your own life."

Cas' eyes softened, knew Dean would never sanction anyone getting hurt to save him, especially someone he cared about. "No, you never do but I want to save you, to keep on saving you."

Dean's eyes dropped to the blanket where his hands nervously fidgeted with a stray piece of yarn. He was way uncomfortable with the direction the conversation had gone, always was when it came to people earnestly telling him that they cared about him. '_It always ends badly for them, caring about me, trying to save me_.' Could run off the list of people who had died because they thought he was worth saving. And the list, it was eerily akin to a family tree, those his family but blood…and by heart.

Recognizing Dean's melancholy and fear, Cas sighed, claimed a seat on the bed at Dean's hip and eyed up his friend. It didn't take his angel intuitiveness to know how his friends' thoughts ran. '_To guilt and unworthiness and mostly fear, not for himself but for anyone who loved him.' _And he wasn't confident that words could dismantle any of that, actions, however, had a chance at success. "I think we've already established you're stuck with me so if you thought this was a worthy scheme to ditch me, catching two bullets, you highly underestimated my tenacity," he lightly said, was encouraged when Dean's eyes rose to his, glittered with surprise and the beginning spark of gladness. "And if you think I have any intentions of trusting you to take care of yourself if I'm not around to nag you, well, you've been eating the wrong mushrooms then."

Dean couldn't fight a smirk, knew what Cas' words were: a pledge to not let him go, a vow to not leave him. Knew in his heart of hearts that Cas wasn't going anywhere, would risk his life to save his, yes, but wouldn't go quietly into that goodnight himself, not if he meant leaving him, _hurting_ him. '_Friggin' soft angel_,' he affectionately insulted, grumpily boomeranged Cas' own words back to him, "You've been eating the wrong mushrooms."

At Dean's lame comeback, Cas laughed and shook his head. "I can't believe I used to see _you_ as the ultimate smart aleck guru, thought I would be cool if I said what you did."

"Hey, I am cool," Dean returned with effrontery.

"You called that one croat, pizza face," Cas recalled with mocking but warm disdain.

"Yeah, 'cause he had like….skin missing from his face," Dean timidly defended his moniker criteria.

Cas provided another example for his case. "You called Raphael a skirt, Dean."

"No, I called him a candy.."

"Really, you think that's makes it better," Cas cut in with an arching eyebrow to which Dean mumbled, "Sounded good at the time."

Cas couldn't fight a chuckle. "Yeah it did. And Rachael hated it."

Dean pointed to Cas. "See, that's the key to any comeback, to get a reaction."

"Fine, I'll let your smart aleck guru title stand," Cas conceded before they fell silent.

And Dean knew it was past time for him to say what he should have the first second Cas walked through the door, heck the second he opened his eyes and found Sam hovering over him. "Cas, thanks for bringing Sam to me," he earnestly conveyed his gratitude to his best friend for a debt he had no hopes of ever repaying.

Cas merely nodded his acknowledgment, didn't need Dean's thanks, had done it because Dean needed his brother, it was that simple.

But Cas' understated acceptance didn't sit well with Dean, not when Dean knew the risk it had been, how things might have ended. "You do know it was stupid though, right? You went off alone, could have been killed …or turned. And Sam could have been….we didn't know…I thought…." Dean ran a hand over his mouth, still trying to come to terms with the new turn of events, of how unacceptable his lack of faith in Sam was, would be to his brother.

"I liked your gratitude better than this lecture," Cas sallied back without a shred of remorse for his actions.

Dean gave a bitter chuckle, "What you deserve is a black eye for being so reckless."

Cas shrugged but said nothing, would not undo anything he had done for Dean, not in the past few days or the years prior.

Suddenly weary, Dean rested his head back against the headboard, studied his friend. "No matter what happens, you did the right thing bringing Sam here." Needed Cas to know that, to hang onto that, to not let what happens after that kindness taint the goodness and rightness of his actions.

Cas' forehead creased with worried confusion. "What do you mean, 'no matter what happens'?" because he had become an expert at reading between Dean's lines. Had to when the man rarely admitted when he needed help.

"Between Sam and I," Dean lowly admitted, knew that the truth would come out, that Sam would know what he had thought, had planned to do with the Colt, that if there was a betrayer in their bond, it was him, not Sam.

Cas' breath caught in his chest at Dean's words, at the heartbreak Dean was holding back. "I don't understand, you and Sam…you're together again." Wasn't that supposed to put the world back on its axis, right wrongs, make Dean's life better?

"For how long?" Dean bleakly posed. "He's going to find out Cas. He will."

"Find out what, Dean?" Cas asked, wasn't naïve enough to miss that Dean was ashamed of his actions the past years, but they had been all necessity, taking lives, abandoning people to their fate, choosing who to save and who to condemn. Someone had had to do it and Dean had stepped up the plate, had done it because someone had to, because to do good…sometimes you had to do some bad.

Not shrinking from Cas' gaze, Dean bluntly said, "What I planned to do with The Colt." What they both knew he had planned to do with it: kill his brother. Kill Sam.

Cas flinched, knew that was the one thing he had kept back from Sam on their car ride to the camp. He hadn't wanted to take the chance that Sam would latch onto anger and bail on seeing Dean. Had grimly thought Dean would be taking that secret to the grave with him. Cursing, he surged off the bed, turned his back on Dean. It was the one thing that could undo everything.

"Yeah, I'm screwed, Cas," Dean somberly announced, because sometimes a lack of faith, it could cost you everyone you loved. He knew that better than anyone.

But Cas turned back to Dean, was shaking his head. "No, he'll understand."

"That I was going to kill him, really kill him?! Was going to follow my Dad's order at long last?!" Dean incredulously jeered. "No, Cas, there is no understanding that…or forgiving it. I gave up on him, Cas. I did. You of all people know that I did."

For a moment, Cas was stumped with a good argument. Then he crossed over to the sink, snatched something from the windowsill and stalked back to Dean. "I don't think you did give up on him," Cas proclaimed, dropping the Panty Inspector ID card with Sam's picture onto Dean's chest, the picture Dean's eyes always strayed to whenever he was in the vicinity of the sink, that his friend looked at every single day…even as he told himself his brother was past saving, that killing Sam was the only option he had left.

When Dean's stunned gaze lifted from the ID up to him, Cas revealed, "And he didn't give up on you. First question he asked me when I found him was 'Where's Dean?'. He'll forgive you Dean, he will." And Cas believed it, was fortified by Sam's words to him: '_When both Dean and I doubted each other's strength, loyalty, you didn't._' And more than that, Cas recognized the level of love Sam and Dean had for each other, that it had the capacity to forgive the unforgiveable and to mend the deepest hurts. To make a brand new start possible even in the most broken of worlds.

"He'll forgive you," Cas assured again, as he patted Dean's leg and reclaimed his seat in the chair by his friend's bed, knew he wouldn't have to wait long until Sam came back, regained his rightful place at his brother's side.

"I hope you're right," Dean quietly said, though he knew he didn't deserve Sam's forgiveness, he wanted it badly.

"I am," Cas stated with conviction before he smirked, "I'm an angel of the Lord, I know these things."

"**Ex**-angel of the Lord and you also thought Iowa wouldn't be that cold in winter. New Year's Day, it was friggin' negative fifteen degrees, Cas," Dean taunted back, glad for the respite from heavy topics.

"Yeah, 'cause your predictions are so much more accurate than mine. You thought going for toilet paper would be a…what did you call it, "A milk run"," Cas swept his arm out above Dean, showcasing how well and easy that "milk run" had gone over.

A little chagrined at his naivety, Dean questioned, "So how pissed was Chuck that we came back without the toilet paper?"

'_Right, like me carrying you in my arms to your cabin leaving a trail of your blood in our wake didn't trump Chuck's obsession with hygiene products_,' Cas sardonically thought, fought back a chill at the memories. Said aloud with exaggerated seriousness, "He wouldn't shut up about it. I think you should stop worrying about Sam's forgiveness and start thinking about getting Chuck's. Probably a box of tampons will go a long way." Cas let out a full out laugh when Dean forwent any smart aleck comeback and simply grabbed his glass off the night stand and tossed the water in his face.

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** TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing! Well, since I didn't wrap this story up in August, I'll "see" you all in September. Thanks for all of your lovely comments on this story that spiced up my August!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	24. Chapter 24: Clemency

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's Note: Well, as you noticed, my posting schedule's no longer daily. Good news is, this chapter's longer than the others.

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Chapter 24: Clemency

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It feels like they are in a quarantine zone of their own making, what with he and Sam on opposite ends of the room. Sam almost took a step in his direction but paces to the door instead, stays on his side of the zone. And Dean doesn't have the strength or coordination to be the one to sneak across the lines.

It's a stalemate.

'_And I didn't even tell him I planned on killing him yet. That will really put the icing on the cake,_' Dean darkly ruminates, doesn't know he sighed until Sam suddenly spins to face him from his vantage point by the door, worriedly asks, "Are you OK?"

"Yeah," Dean boldly replies with a tinge of indignation at the question.

"You…you sighed," Sam points out like that'll make his case for him.

'_Great, now sighing is a sign of frailty_,' Dean thinks before he says, "No, I'm….good," hates that his voice cracks on the last words, showcasing his exhaustion. But he is pathetic enough to feel good when Sam apprehensively scowls at his outward indication of feebleness, to have proof that Sam doesn't hate him, cares for him. _'Does until I tell him the truth._' And wasn't that the thing that always screwed them over, the truth. Something that was supposed to set them free. '_Yeah, freedom from my brother's presence…love, that's all it's ever given me_.' And he so didn't want that, ever again.

But it gave him an idea, a strategy, an underhanded one but he was fighting to keep Sam and that made the rules inconsequential. Yup, he would stoop to the tactic he avoided his whole life: the sympathy vote. Would use his current physical state to woo Sam into feeling sorry for him, into letting certain mistakes pass. '_Like your intent to track him down and put a bullet through his head? Really think he's going to feel that sorry for you to forgive you __**that**__?!'_

Realizes he's missed something Sam's said by the expression on his brother's face. "What?"

Torn between wanting to stick close to Dean to make sure his brother had everything he needed and fearing that he'd hurt him again, maybe land another blow if Dean startled him, Sam shifted on his long legs, says again, "You need something? You've barely touched the food I brought."

'_You mean your bribery_ _offering_?' Sam caustically sneers at his own tactics. It wasn't just happenstance that while Cas went to talk to Dean he scrambled to the kitchen, picked out the food he knew Dean liked best. Sure, there was no bacon or pie but there were fried potatoes and the blackest coffee Sam had seen this side of oil and some powered egg that almost looked edible. And when he knocked on Dean's door at his return, he avoided Cas' eyes as he entered the room, bearing the food, didn't want to know the angel picked up on his tactics and was appalled by them.

But whatever Cas thought, he left unsaid, simply told Dean that he needed to see to the running of the camp while their "fearless leader" was slumming it and walked out the door. '_Left me with Dean, wouldn't have if I had confessed I punched Dean only half an hour ago_.' And that had his eyes going to the bruise forming on Dean's jawline. "Crap, I should have gotten you some ice for your…." And he points to his own jawline.

"I prefer a nice ribeye," Dean jokes back, knew that their backup for ice had more run the lines of a beer can or frozen bag of veggies from a convenience store.

Sam snorts. "Yeah, 'cause that's always been our standard backup for ice."

Sam saying practically exactly what Dean had been thinking eases some of Dean's tension, reminds him that he and Sam know each other, that they aren't strangers, could predict what the other would do if they were backed into a corner. '_Right, like I predicted/accepted that Sam would say yes?! Yeah, tell me again how well you know Sam_?' Dean rebukes himself.

In the middle of their private joke when Dean drops his eyes from his, Sam stiffens, doesn't know what he has done wrong, what he has said that isn't right but curses himself for it all the same.

When Sam says nothing more, Dean looks up, curious to see his brother's expression, but Sam isn't facing him, is staring out the window by the door, like he's anxious to leave him. The fear that Sam will follow through and leave prompts Dean to put his plan into action. Has nothing to do with the fact that he isn't handling it well, having his brother back and yet now being denied Sam's closeness.

Sliding his hands onto the mattress at his hips, Dean levers himself into an upright position, bites down a moan of pain as his chest wound lances with pain at the movement. Determined, he inches his legs toward the side of the bed, more dragging then moving his right leg where the bullet had nicked the bone, not to mention tore through muscles and tendons.

Hearing the creak of the bed and not able to fight down the fear that Dean was in pain, needed him, Sam looks over his shoulder, shouts out a panicked, "Dean!" even as he sprints toward the bed. But he gets there too late to stop his brother from trying to stand…or collapsing to the floor. Cursing, he drops to his knees beside his brother, cups Dean's face and grips his shoulder as he demanded, his eyes holding Dean's dazed ones, "Dean, are you ok? What were you thinking!" anger and panic making his words sharp.

It worked, sort of. Sam was there beside him, was touching him, was openly worried about him…and pissed at him. But Dean doesn't revel in his victory, feels sick and not just because his level of pain is nearing black- out threshold. Sam deserved better than this, to be tricked into forgiving him, for whatever affection he had for him to be a tool of manipulation.

"No," Dean brokenly bites out, pushing Sam's hand from his neck, pressing his other hand against Sam's chest, holding Sam at a distance, needing Sam to stop, to not care about him, to let him in his pain, like he so rightly deserves.

Chilled at Dean's aversion to his touch, Sam scrambles back, raggedly drawing in air into his lungs. '_It no better than you deserve. You punched Dean…you think he shouldn't be worried you'll do it again. He can't afford to suffer more pain, Sam. And I can't bare it if that pain comes from my hands again.' _Standing on shaking legs, Sam staggers back a step, feels nine ways wrong to leave his brother on the ground, hurting. But a memory strikes him…of Dean on a motel room floor, glass under him and the beginning bruises on his neck from Sam's hands.

Spinning around, Sam practically runs for the door, needs to get away, to make sure he doesn't do worse damage to Dean, that Dean gets his wish: for him to leave him alone, to never touch him again. But even as he reaches the door, part of him is begging Dean to stop him, to tell him to stay, to forgive him.

Cursing his stupidity, Dean doesn't know what to say but knows Sam misunderstood his actions, is going to leave and Dean doesn't want that, Sam shouldn't have to forfeit his safety just to get away from him. Propping himself up on an elbow, he calls out to his brother's retreating back, "You don't have to leave the camp."

Freezing, Sam knows Dean's words are almost what he yearned to hear..and yet not at all. Dean was saying he could stay in the _camp_….as long as he stayed away from him. And that's his brother for him, offering sanctuary to the needy, the lost, the unworthy.

Sam at least stopped, that was something but not enough for Dean. "I screwed up, Sam. I know I did but this can be your home too. …I ..I won't talk to you…or…go to the common areas, you won't have to see me much."

Dean's words are ludicrous enough to have Sam turning around and sputtering, "Dean what the…I came here to see you to …talk to you?!" '_To spend any scraps of time that you would mercifully give to me at your side._ _To be content with any remnants of affection you would bless me with.'_

And that makes it worse for Dean, Sam's generosity, Sam's forgiveness, Sam's love. Grabbing onto the corner of the nightstand, he shifts himself until his back is resting against it. But he's out of breath and sweating by the time the miniscule movement is completed. Notes when he looks up that Sam's taken a few steps closer, is wearing a pinched expression, his hands fisted at his side.

It was torture, not going to Dean, watching his brother struggle to just sit up, to read the agony blanketing his features, but Sam had to endure it, had to stay back, to not touch, to let Dean have the space he wanted. Had to give him that…even if it broke his heart.

Back and head heavily resting against the nightstand, Dean faces Sam, pathetically tries to plead his case. "I wasn't right in the head, Cas could tell you that."

Sam cringes at the underlining meaning of his brother's statement. '_Cas, who was there with you when I wasn't, when I chose not to be_.' Curses himself all over again for mistakes he has made and has no way of undoing.

"I shouldn't have believed Zac…about you," Dean hoarsely stammers, red rimmed eyes latching onto Sam's wide gaze.

This wasn't the direction Sam thought the conversation was headed. He finds himself holding his breathing, riding it out, hoping there is some way for him to pull another redemption out of his hat.

"But, God help me, I believed you had said yes," Dean closes his eyes, would never be free of that guilt of betraying Sam like that. Of planning what he had after he swallowed that revelation.

Sam's heart speeds up at Dean's guilt and grief. Crouching down to be eye level with his brother, though he doesn't draw closer, Sam quietly confesses, "I almost did…more than once." When Dean stiffens at his declaration, he clarifies, "Thinking of you, of what would happened to you if I gave in…it gave me the strength to keep saying no."

Dean nods, a proud smile mixing incongruently with his sorrowful features. "You were always stronger than I was." '_Could walk away from the life, from our family, didn't selfishly say 'yes' to stop your own pain regardless of the consequences to others, always did just fine on your own…without me._'

Sam frowns at the praise, wholly unfitting praise as it is. "Dean, I kicked open the cage, set the devil loose ….lost you to Hell…and to….to this life without me." Every offense somehow more painful than the one before. "I've made a crapload of bad decisions so, you believing I continued the trend by saying yes…not really much of a stretch Dean," he disparagingly recaps his shortcomings, not his brother's.

"Whatever you've done…I've done worse…would have done even worse," Dean bitterly announces, knows that Sam's transgressions were executed out of love, misguided love for him, not hate, not some twisted payback for getting his heart broken.

"What are you talking about?" Sam gently presses, can't ease his brother's guilt if he doesn't understand it.

"The Colt, Sam. The friggin' Colt," Dean hollowly says, knows Sam isn't stupid, doesn't need a flow chart to know what would have come next once The Colt was in his hands.

Dawning came over Sam's features but on its heels isn't hatred or even anger…is unwarranted compassion. "If I had said yes…" When Dean's features lose all their coloring, Sam hurriedly continues his line of thought, "You wouldn't have had any other option but to kill me, Dean."

Dean shakes his head, swallows down a sob, but his words are choked with unshed tears, "I shouldn't have thought it…should have had another plan in place, a plan to save you…not kill you, Sammy."

Sam's own throat closes up, not in fear or disappointment or the other emotions Dean probably thought his confession would garner but love for his brother and anger at himself for putting Dean through that all over again: thinking he had to kill him, that Dean's only avenue to save him was the one their Dad had suggested years ago. Sam still remembered that conversation in River Grove all those years ago, Dean saying '_Who says I want to go on_,' and that despair, it all sprang from the promise Dean made his father, that Sam later exacted out of him.

"If I had said Yes…," Sam quietly posed, "….killing me would have been the only way to save me, Dean. You and I both knew that and I couldn't do that to you, couldn't make you do that, had asked that of you before but now I know the cost of that type of promise." Sam chokes out a sob, shakes his head. "Me asking you to kill me if I went evil, Dad asking that of you, it wasn't fair, would have destroyed you…like watching you go to Hell destroyed a part of me. I vowed to not do that to you, to keep saying no or find a way to end my own life, to not put that weight on you."

Dean rejects Sam's absolution for him. "And I shoulda trusted you, that you wouldn't have said yes,"

"Dean, you said no for thirty years in Hell, that should have been enough, your temptation…your agony, it should have ended…but it didn't, they kept pushing until they got what they wanted from you. You think three years of me saying no was going to wrap it up, end it? Sooner or later…if I didn't have you with me, I was going to break Dean, I was," Sam gravely admits, knew that some days a yes was on his lips, when he had those nightmares of Dean dying…of him killing Dean.

Though a weight lifted from Dean's soul at Sam's words, Dean knows he is still at fault for most of this. "I shouldn't have cut you out of my life, Sam. I was wrong,"

"We both were," Sam concedes with a warm smile because this is typical for them; both wrong and yet so stubbornly determined to follow things through thinking they were doing the best thing for the other. "Happens to even the most brilliant strategists. Custer, Stonewall Jackson…"

"Glenn Frey when he went solo from the Eagles," Dean supplies, smirked at his little brother's huff of put-on exasperation at his non-military example.

"Point is…we're learning from our mistakes. I'm not leaving and you can't make me, Dean. So deal with it," Sam states like it is fact, like he isn't holding his breath for his brother's acceptance to that decree.

Instead of giving one of his smart aleck gems in response, Dean bares his soul, knows Sam is worthy of his trust, all of it, "I've missed you from the second you got up from that picnic table and hitched a ride out of my life four years ago, Sam. All I've ever wanted was for us to be together, be brothers again."

Sam's eyes shone with tears of gladness as he smiles. "'Kay, then it's settled. No separate vacations from here on out. But…few ground rules," Sam stipulates, pointing a stern finger at Dean even as his other hand gently coils around Dean's ankle as if he needs that physical connection, has been denied it too long.

"What now?" Dean grumbles like he won't jump to do anything Sam tells him to.

"No more stupid ventures out of bed without help, no more solo missions where you need ex-prophets to save your butt, no more toilet paper recons without me, and no more kamikaze missions," Sam outlines, knows the last one will get a protest from Dean and sees it on Dean's lips but quickly shoots him down, "No, Dean, we do things smart. We weigh the odds, determine the cost to us…"

"Check our astrological chart?" Dean tacks on, appreciates Sam's scowl even as he is on the verge of agreeing to Sam's terms.

"I mean it Dean. I'm not going to risk losing you all over again. So…those are my terms, take them or leave 'em," Sam stipulates, knows that he can't show weakness, let Dean know that all of his strength is show, that he'd do whatever Dean wanted. Would follow Dean to the brink of Hell…and beyond.

With a fabricated sigh of frustrated capitulation, Dean says, "Fine…for all but one." Enjoyed Sam's held breath before he smiles and give his terms, "I'm not going on any more toilet paper runs. Chuck wants tampons, he's on his own."

Sam's stiff features break into a wide smile, before he bafflingly asks, "Wait, Chuck wants tampons?"

"Just help me off the floor and to the porch," Dean commands, his hand impatiently waving his brother to come hither.

And Sam almost goes on instinct, before he remembers to play it cool, to not let on he's all willing to jump when Dean needs him…as long as Dean doesn't know that. "Wait, you are asking for help? You?!" he drawls, loves Dean's brewing scowl. "That's it, I better check your blood for the croataon virus," Sam tries to say serious but his amused grin ruins the façade.

"Are you done being hilarious?" Dean retorts in his best impression of being-annoyed-when-he's-anything-but tone.

Counting that as a personal win in their battle of smart comebacks, Sam smiles, finally draws close enough to lay hands on Dean. Slides his arm around Dean's waist and pulls his brother's arm over his shoulder and then he's pulling Dean upward. Expects to take most of his brother's weight which is considerable with his six foot frame of muscle but Dean's not having it, is trying to stand on his leg, the one a bullet tore through with merciless velocity.

"Dean, stop putting weight on your leg!" Sam stresses, half a mind to sling Dean over his shoulder to show him who's in charge. "If you want me to help you, then you have to let me help you."

"Sounds like a self-help book title," Dean quips back, grimacing as he tries to brace his knee so his leg doesn't crumble and prove Sam right.

"What's it going to be? Are you going to stop being so stubborn or do I need to throw you over my shoulder?" Sam threatens, his eyes searing into Dean's, doesn't want this to turn into an argument but will stand his ground when it comes to how far he'll let Dean push himself. Finds himself nearly holding his breath, hoping things didn't go south at this juncture, that Dean could trust him in the little things at least.

Sam's got his serious face on and Dean suddenly believes his brother might just do it. But beyond Sam's strong armed tactics, there's a vulnerability in Sam's eyes, an anxiousness over how he'll react. '_If I'll trust him_," Dean realizes, knows this is another step on the path to Sam regaining his confidence, in himself and in them. Given that choice, sacrificing his ego is easy. Lifting his right leg, he surrenders his weakened body to Sam's strength, watches as gratitude and relief play across Sam's features. They, with a pace of a snail high on marijuana, they head out to the porch.

The rickety chair on the porch is in sight when Sam's own bad leg acts up, has him, and consequently Dean, stumbling forward. Not willing to crash land on Dean, Sam twists himself around, slams into the chair, causing Dean to end up half sprawled on his lap. For a moment, silence reigns as they both occupy the chair and Sam's mortified at his weakness, that he's hurt Dean again, blown his chance of showing his brother his trust wasn't misplaced.

When Sam bites the bullet and looks to Dean, his brother's not mad….is instead busting up in laughter, wheezes out between breathes, "Dude, you suck as a nurse."

"Yeah and you suck as a patient," Sam volleys back, lightheaded with relief that Dean's not hurt and not viewing his clumsiness as a character trait. "Guess some things never change." And Sam's thanking God for that certainty as he slips out of the chair and maneuvers Dean in it. Instantly he's pulling another chair close, dropping into it and gently raising Dean's leg and resting it on his thigh.

They both turn as voices approach.

"Cas, I don't think I'm your guy," Chuck's whine travels to the brothers before he and Cas have even turned that corner, are in sight. "The last intervention I was involved with…well..it didn't end well. My uncle pulled out a shotgun, nearly took off my cousin's head."

"Chuck, Sam and Dean need our help and we're giving it."

Yup, Dean recognized that as Cas' you're-doing-it-and-that's-final tone he had come up against a few times…and lost.

"I think they can work things out on their own."

Sam didn't put a lot of stock in Chuck's words actually being true more than the prophet's reluctance to once again piss off both Winchester brothers.

"Last time they argued, they ended up spending four years apart. We just need them to recognize that whatever happened in the past, it doesn't change the fact that they are better, happier together. And you know them, you wrote the Winchester gospels."

'_Friggin' books'_ Sam and Dean cursed silently, unknowingly in synch.

"Not about those friggin' books again," Chuck grumbles as he and Cas turn the corner. He immediately comes up short at the sight of Sam and Dean on the porch clearly within ear shot of his conversation with Cas. "Un ho," he mutters, isn't sure if running would help because Sam's got those long legs and Dean's got a wicked throwing arm.

"Ah, hey Dean…Sam," Cas tries to casually greet. "Nice day out here, huh?."

"Yeah, unseasonable warm," Dean replies with one of his jeering smiles, his tone clearing saying, '_Idjits_'. Turns to Sam, wonders if his brother is willing to let the two good-intentioned fools off the hook.

"You need something," Sam asks in his most innocent and over earnest tone, feels Dean fighting back a snicker at his side.

Eyeing up the two brothers, sensing only comradery and affection between them, Cas stammers, "A.h..no," before he turns to his companion, clamps a hand on Chuck's shoulder. "But Chuck here was asking about toilet paper."

"What?!" Chuck squeaks like he's going through another puberty voice change. "No. NO! I wasn't, wouldn't… trees, leaves, they're fine. Work….like Charman. So we're good on the hygiene stuff."

"Good," Sam sternly says, but winks at the two men the next moment and then watches as they both smile and take their exit. He's not prepared for Dean's out of left field rejoinder.

"So the beard, that staying or can I expect the return of your baby face anytime soon?" Dean tries to make the question light, like he thinks the beard is just a beard and not some emotional thing going on with his little brother.

"What, I'm looking more mature than you and you can't stand it?" Sam jokes, settling back in his chair, fiddling a little with the bandage on Dean's leg like it needs tended to.

"You look like Big Foot and I'm afraid someone in camp will shoot you by mistake," Dean deadpans.

Sam chuckles but he knows Dean's comments for what they are: his brother's way of telling him that seeing the scar on his face, it didn't incriminate Dean into a guilty funk. That the scar, it didn't define him, and didn't need to be hidden away. That Dean would accept him any way he came, always had, always would.

But no need to go all chick flick and call Dean out on it. '_Or for you to get teary eyed'_ he rebuked himself, says aloud, "So you're still harboring the Big Foot Exists theory?"

"I like to get to know all my neighbors out here," Dean came back with.

Laughing out loud, Sam shakes his head, ruefully declares, "You're just not right in the head."

And Dean's smile, it's the genuine article. "Come on, you love my crazy."

"I love you, your crazy ..that's another thing entirely," Sam teasingly replies, hopes he gets away with the chick flick moment because Dean kinda started it.

"I can live with that," Dean contently attests. And in that moment, he can hardly believe his life can be this good but he certainly isn't complaining. Has come to learn that, sometimes you got things in life you totally didn't deserve, like awesome little brothers who forgave the unforgiveable, loved you in spite of all your past, present and future faults. And if you were really lucky, like he was, you got one that even humored your crazy.

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** TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

I do have more one shots planned for this series but they need some work, so I'll get them to you when I can.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	25. Chapter 25: Leadership

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 25: Leadership

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Sam's been gone for an hour, tops, but finds that Dean's cabin has been invaded when he returns. Not by croats but ten members of the camp, which he thinks is just a nice 'hello, how you doing' gathering until he hears one of the solder's question to his brother. He pauses at the door, still invisible to the gathered group.

"We've been sitting here on our butts for two weeks 'cause Cas wouldn't let us go on missions without your say so," Zimmer bit out, breaking his eye contact with Dean to shoot a contemptuous glare at Cas, who doesn't bat an eyelash at his condemnation. Failing to intimidate the other man into rethinking his decision, Zimmer turns back to their leader, who looks more likely to pass out than come up with some grand mission for him to go on. "We need supplies, we need to check the croat movements and you _said_ we'd scope out the cities to our west, see if there were any survivors," a thread of judgment in his words, in the promise Dean had made and had yet to fulfil.

At his side, Dean feels Cas bristling at Zimmer's accusation, hopes his friend keeps his mouth shut and lets him handle this. Because Dean knows that, Zimmer's anger at him, at Cas, it wasn't just over inactivity. It was over Scott, one of his best buds. Scott who Cas had dropped in this very cabin. "Ok, nothing says we can't look for supplies to our west and do a little recon for survivors at the same time."

"_We,"_ Zimmer snorts, quirking an eyebrow as if Dean's said something hilarious.

Dean doesn't miss Zimmer's meaning. His "we" is bullcrap, since '_he_' isn't going anywhere. Not because Cas wouldn't let him and Sam would throw a hissy fit but because he knows his own limitations. And he is about at said limits just sitting in the chair, straying upright. So yeah, the "we" is crap, means more "we the camp", but it gripes Dean, because that's not how he's ever led: From the safety of a war room instead of from the front lines.

Zimmer's snide disrespect to Dean is too much for Cas to swallow, has him surging out of his chair even as Zimmer comes to his feet to face off with the ex-angel in the middle of the circle of gathered camp members.

"Dean's gone on every mission this camp's ever _had_," Cas lowly hisses, making it a point to invade Zimmer's personal space. "Those first few months you were here, you were too scared to leave your _cabin_, let alone the _camp_. And Dean didn't say word one about that, did he. Never said you had to earn your keep. He taught you what you needed to know to stay alive. He got shot out there trying to take care of everyone in this camp. To take care of _you,_" Cas bitingly accuses, shoving Zimmer for good measure, his anger rising at the thought that Dean had almost died trying to do the right thing for ungrateful jerks like Zimmer.

Zimmer is foolish enough to swing on Cas. Cas ducks under the roundhouse and plows his own fist into the other man's gut. Zimmer stumbles back, tries to come at Cas again with a left jab but Cas deflects his arm and clocks Zimmer across the brow with his elbow, setting the other tumbling back into the table, struggling to keep on his feet.

When Zimmer straightens his stance, there is fury where mere anger was before.

"Let off, Zimmer," Franklin warns his friend from his leaning stance against wall, knows that Althouse is still sporting scars from his run in with Cas over that snipe mission months ago. Doesn't want to see Zimmer crippled because he's a hot head and thinks he's got skills to counter Cas when the 2nd-in-command is in Dean-protector mode.

"I'm not scared of him!" Zimmer snarls, eyes boring into Cas, daring him to come at him again. Shooting a look to Dean, he proclaims, "Or you." And he's not afraid of their fearless leader. Hates his little voice for snidely pointing out, '_Sure, __now__ you're not. Not when he's weak, doesn't look or act like the leader you willingly followed into hot croat zones in five states.'_

Coolly, Dean accepts Zimmer's mutiny, knows the man has a right to feel that way. But one look at Cas' taunt stance and he knows his friend isn't going to be as forgiving, that Cas had a habit of beating up and threatening their comrades if he thought they put him in danger. '_Friggin' mother hen angel_,' Dean grumbles silently with warm affection as he preps himself to get his butt out of the chair and intervene before Cas ripped out Zimmer's heart for giggles.

Cas had taken one menacing step toward Zimmer when Sam chose that moment to burst onto the scene, intent on breaking up the fight before Dean tries to. Coming between Zimmer and Cas, Sam shoves Zimmer back, hard, isn't sure if he is protecting the man from Cas or wanting to exact some pain on him for disrespecting Dean. But when he takes a step toward Zimmer and the aggressive man's reaction is to step back, Sam realizes that his true motives were written on his face for all to see. That Zimmer going up against Dean meant going up against him, a very pissed, protective him.

"You just don't get it, do you?! What you have here. What Dean's given you. Cas too," Sam incredulously challenges Zimmer, can't believe anyone would find fault in what Dean's done here with the camp, for these people. "How long were you out in the world before they found you, saved you, a few months…_a year_?!" cutting censure there in his tone. "I was out there for three years and I know exactly what there is to be afraid of. Kids killing their parents, a hoard of croats overrunning a town, a city in chaos full of uninfected killing uninfected out of blind terror, of hell's minions possessing whole counties, of getting torn apart by them," raises his shirt to give visual aids to his examples, his chest and torso an array of scars: knife wounds, bullet wounds, burns.

Letting his shirt drop, Sam rapidly closes in the distance Zimmer put between them and grabs Zimmer by the back of up the neck, doesn't land a blow but instead yanks the soldier's shirt up to show an unmarred chest and torso, no scars, no map of pain and fear. "Where's your scars, huh? Tell me how hard you've had it. How brave you've been? Dean, wanna show off your scars?" he calls over his shoulder but his eyes don't release Zimmer's. "Knife wounds, bullet wounds, burns, broken bones…Dean's got them all. But they weren't earned trying to save himself but saving others, ungrateful morons like you," he lowly directs the last to the soldier in his grip.

"Go ahead, tell me with a straight face that he didn't save your life. Not when he brought you to camp, we'll give that as a freebee but since then, a mission, a supply run," Sam dares, sees by Zimmer's stiffening that the man can't, that a memory has resurfaced. A memory of Dean saving his life.

Roughly releasing Zimmer, Sam turns to the gathered group, knows that Zimmer's poisonous dissention can't be allowed to spread to the others. "You wanna see what life is like out there," he says, pointing to the world outside their refuge, "what it would be like if Dean didn't invite you here? Be my guest…but I can tell you, you won't like it," he grimly predicts, wouldn't give any of them more than a month to live in the world they'll find outside Dean's military configuration.

"That's not what Zimmer was saying," Franklin quietly speaks up, has to, now that his friend's finally smartened up and fallen mute. "That he wants to leave…that any of us do. We just…" here he looks to Dean, tries to get the words right. "We just realized that without you to lead us…"

Chuck speaks up for the first time from his unassuming position in the back of the room, "We were lost." Then he hangs his head, knows he's prejudice, would stick by Dean no matter what. And everyone in camp knew that. '_Except probably Dean_.'

Zimmer looks to Dean and exhales, has enough self-awareness to know what is truly at the heart of all his resentment. "Scott was…was my friend."

"I know he was," Dean hoarsely replies, feels bad for Scott's fate, isn't sure he would have killed him to save himself like Cas had. But knows that he's the one who should carry the guilt of Scott's death, has to answer for it, not Cas. "You're right to hold me accountable for his death."

Right on cue, Cas bluntly declares, "No, **I killed Scott**." Then he bypasses Sam, stops right in front of Zimmer and confesses like he's the one on trial, "Me, and only me. So you want to hate someone for his death, you hate me…not Dean." Even as Cas thinks, '_But if you expect me to feel sorry for what I did…I won't, I can't_. _Scott __killed__ Dean and there's no forgiveness for that.' _

Yeager enters the fray. "Scott was…messed up after…." He breaks off, sees that Dean pales further and that's a feat considering the man's skin already appears translucent.

Zimmer's shoulders slumps at Yeager's words, remembers how his friend was after. Looking past Cas to Dean, he quietly recalls, "Gabe was….you know what they meant to each other."

"I do," Dean admits, his voice raw with his own emotions, can't help but look to Sam. He of all people knows what it's like to have a brother you love more than yourself, to vow to kill those who sought to hurt his brother, who _killed_ him. "He had every right to want me dead." Watches as Sam's expression shows his protest to his statement but he ignores his brother's reaction because Sam didn't have the facts. '_He doesn't know what I've done, what I deserve._' Not to mention that Sam has always been prejudice when it comes to him, gives him free passes no one else ever would. '_Like thinking the worst of him, abandoning him to a world that did its best to kill him.'_ Knows that better now after seeing the scars Sam carries all over his body.

Breaking eye contact with Sam, Dean turns again to Zimmer. "But I ….I did what Gabe asked me to. He didn't want Scott to have to do it," he reveals, watches Cas' head sharply snap his way and his best friend's eyes spark with new understanding and greater sympathy.

Zimmer doesn't doubt Dean's claim but nods his head, knows Gabe would have done just that, selfish jerk. "Sounds like Gabe," he says with a broken chuckle as he runs his hand through his hair. "Dean, I'm….sorry. I was letting my grief and anger blind me."

"It's ok, I get it," Dean forgives instantly, doesn't hold Zimmer's righteous feelings against the man who has loyally been at his side for almost a year.

Before things can turn into another round of heartbreak, Cas announces as he claps his hands together like it's a AA meeting wrapping up, "Ok, I think that concludes our meeting. Missions resume starting tomorrow. Everyone out." Following his order, the people file out, Cas, however, halts at the door, shares a look with Dean, who gives him a nod, telling him he's ok, isn't about to fall apart because Zimmer had the guts to speak his mind. Then Cas leaves the brothers alone, confident that Sam will patch up the emotional wounds Dean won't admit to suffering.

Shifting on his feet, eyes on his brother, Sam quietly says, "You shouldn't be out of bed," like that's the thing on his mind, what's redlining his emotional meter.

"You should have told me about the wounds," Dean just as quietly counters, not with condemnation for his brother's revealed secret but heartbreak, guilt for what Sam's been through, what he _sentenced_ him to. '_All the while I was off saving strangers, somewhat ungrateful strangers at that.' _

"They're all healed," Sam reassures with a soft smile. '_You healed them when you let me come back with you_.'

"Sammy," Dean brokenly begins because it's like what he was just thinking, Sam giving him free passes he so doesn't warrant.

"What did Gabe ask you to do?" Sam stridently asks, in contrast, his voice is gentle, like he knows it's hallow ground, this topic.

Dean looks away from Sam, doesn't want his brother to really know what he's been up to in his absence.

Though Sam's gut tightens at Dean's obvious reluctance to tell him, he adopts a teasing note as he prods, "Come on, you've not emoted to me in …like five years. I know you've got lots of chick flick moments stored up just waiting to be released."

"You emote, I stew," Dean corrects, fighting back a smirk.

"Ok, then stew verbally, man. Tell me what they were talking about. Scott…Gabe." Sam doesn't miss Dean's minuscule flinch at his prod. "I can't help you if I don't know what you're dealing with, Dean."

His throat constricted, Dean retorts, "Who says I deserve help?" eyes glistening with pain, and only a small part of it is about the physical.

"I do," Sam steely declares, like he just dares Dean or someone else to try and change his mind. To do the impossible. "We're in this together, right? That's what you've promised me. Is that true or …were you just saying what you knew I wanted to hear?" feels a little guilty for doing emotional blackmail on Dean when he doesn't hold one shred of doubt his brother's pledge of forgiveness and unity was made in 100% good faith. But sometimes, when you loved someone, you had to play dirty pool to help them.

Eyes wide and face earnest, Dean stammers, "No, Sam. I…I meant that. You have to believe me."

'_I do_,' Sam replies but says to his brother, "Ok, then tell me about Scott…and Gabe. Why did…."

"Scott kill me?" Dean frankly states, doesn't want it sugarcoated, the kind of reaction he provoked in Scott.

Sam fights down a cringe, wished Dean didn't enjoy bluntly stating the most painful things. "_Try_ and kill you." Because he would not let Scott claim a victory, not when Dean is there with him, had maybe kinda died…but came back, was returned to him.

"He had his reasons," Dean declares, holds Sam's gaze, needs his brother to just accept what he's saying and move on.

"Don't justify what he did to you! Don't!" Sam shouts, would not stand for that, not here when it's just the two of them, no one else's feelings to placate to.

"I had it coming, Sam," Dean darkly insists.

"Dean that's…just no. Alright. No!" Sam explodes, is done letting Dean think the worst of himself. "Like I told Zimmer, you gave Scott a place to live, to be safe, nothing you could have done…"

Dean preempted his brother's defense. "I killed his brother, Sam. I killed Gabe." Dean had tried to say it emotionlessly but when Sam's face crumbles into worry, he knows that he didn't succeed.

Chilled understanding shudders through Sam as he reasons, "Because you made him a promise that you would…that if…."

Hoarsely, Dean picks up the narrative, "If the worst was happening and I…couldn't get to him." He rubs a hand down his face. "And Scott…he would have died too. If I hadn't…"

"Killed Gabe before Scott risked his life trying to save his brother who was beyond saving," Sam solemnly concludes, didn't need any confirmation from Dean to know he is right, his brother's guilty expression says it all. Abruptly, Sam kicks over a chair, frustrated and hating that Dean had to do this, carry this weight, carrying it along with the promise he made to their Dad, to him. '_And he thought he would have to do that to you too, kill you to save you.'_

Dean flinches at Sam's rage, knows Sam sympathizes with him, the position that he was in. But he honestly didn't mean to be a downer to his brother when things seemed like they could be going on an upswing, which was rare in their lives. "Hey, it's ok, Sammy."

"No, it's not Dean. It's not," Sam mournfully denies because he wasn't there to help Dean work through his guilt, to maybe even be the one to take Gabe's life instead of Dean, to save Dean that heartache.

"Your pain's not ok, either, Sam. Not with me," Dean achingly says, knows he'll be seeing his brother's scars in the nightmares to come, of how Sam nearly died a hundred times out there in the world, without him.

Then they fall silent, watching each other from across the room. They couldn't undo the past, what they made of it and that's never going to be ok with either of them. But they weren't living in the past …were in the here and now. And the miracle of them both being alive and in the same room, that trumped any scars they bore.

"Soooo," Sam drew out, trying to put on a lighthearted tone, "no more Big Kahuna meetings until you're better."

"I'm fine," Dean gave in answer, isn't sure if he loves or hates the pissed exasperated look Sam's searing into him. "Ok, I'm gonna be fine."

"Yeah, because you're getting back in bed and you're staying there," Sam commands as he approaches his brother, wordlessly levers Dean out of the chair and helps him back to his bed.

"Bossy much," Dean grumbles but doesn't have the strength to put up a struggle against Sam's currently superior strength.

"You need a boss," Sam shoots back, loosening his grip on Dean when his brother's settled in bed. Towering over his brother, he starts to tally, "And you need a nursemaid, a nutritionist, a fashion consultant…because…Dean, it's 2014, no one's doing Polo shirts anymore."

A childish look of hurt flickers on Dean's features, "Wait, what's wrong with my shirt?"

But Sam doesn't reply, just smiles, because as much as Dean's changed, has become this leader of men…he's stayed the same, is still his big brother. Still has this vulnerable side to him, is still the guy who takes it personally when you critique his fashion…who tries to save everyone and feels each loss heavily. Proves that vulnerability doesn't have to be a character flaw, can be the greatest of virtues, if it's combined with a heart as big as his brother's.

Taking pity on Dean, Sam retracts, "No, you know what, your shirt's awesome." Waits until Dean comes back with a cocky smile before he harpoons him with, "It's your pants. Camo is in, Dean, not denim. Every military leader in the country knows that."

"Jerk," Dean growls but the insult has never sounded so good to Sam's ears.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	26. Chapter 26: One on One

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 26: One on One

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He almost made it, his gun is in his holster, his gear is stowed in the back and his hand is on the Jeep door, all is a go. Until he hears his name and Sam's using his frustrated, pissed tone, that he kinda has missed.

"What, Sam. I'm on a schedule here," Dean growls without turning around, figures things will go better if he doesn't have to do the whole stare down with his brother. But then his brother's somehow been freaky fast, has breached his personal space bubble and snagged his bicep in one of his huge paws and is forcibly stopping his forward motion into the Jeep.

So the confrontation, the stare down, it's on. Except when he turns to Sam, all ready to put on the I've-got- a-job-and-I'm-gonna-do-it-and-you're-not-gonna-stop-me rant, his brother's out and out worried expression blows all that apart. And Sam's words do another torpedo to his plans.

"I thought we weren't going to run away from each other anymore."

Sam doesn't accuse, would be easier if he did. No it's hurt and concern and appeal. "I'm not running, I'm working, Sam. And we aren't not even heading for a hot zone…it's like a lukewarm …tepid zone," Dean lightheartedly reassures. None of which placates his brother.

Sam exhales, tries using his college debate tactics. "You know you're not ready for this. You're just barely staying upright, Dean. No one expects you to head on a mission yet." '_No one but you,_' Sam doesn't say but he knows Dean's standards for himself.

But Dean gives his brother one of his trademark smiles of bravado. "Evil doesn't take a holiday so neither can the good guys, Sam."

"You weren't taking a friggin' holiday, Dean. You're practically coming back from the brink of death," Sam snaps, can't stand when Dean forgets the important stuff, like to take care of himself.

"Nice zombie reference, really settles the nerves when we got a widespread croat virus. Which, by the way, I gotta get back to slowing down." His case stated, Dean goes to slip his arm from Sam's grip.

But Sam doesn't let Dean go, instead ignores Dean and looks over the Jeep roof to Yeager, who's about to hop in the Jeep's passenger side. "Give us a minute," he commands and the man obeys, doesn't even look to Dean, his leader to get his permission.

Angry at Sam's interference, Dean angrily warns, "Sam…" isn't prepared for Sam's next actions, for his brother to ruthlessly press his palm against his bullet wound in his chest. It incites a cry of pain from him even as he starts to double over, right into Sam's waiting grip. Bowed head pressed into Sam's collarbone, he wheezes out, "Crap Sam! What the …"

"We're not doing this all over again. We're not." Steel in Sam's tone that snaps Dean's head up to read his brother's expression. "We're not going to argue and do reckless things and walk out on each other. We're not going to let the world's crapstorm tear us apart. And I'm not letting you go on thinking this is your mess to clean up when it's ours. Mine and yours and that means we do whatever we do together. And right now, what we're gonna do is stay here so you can heal up."

"Sam I wasn't ditching you, I was going …"

Sam ruthlessly cuts him off, "On a mission out there with croats and who knows how many of hell's playmates looking to kill you all the while you're functioning at like…35%."

"75% and, for me, that's still pretty awesome," Dean brags with a cocky smile.

"That why you almost screamed and passed out when I pressed on your bullet wound?" Sam caustically challenges before he huffs, shakes his head, nails Dean a moment later with an expression of vulnerability. "Maybe it doesn't mean much to you but your almost _died,_ Dean."

"Kinda common place, right? Heart attack, car accident, the Trickster's 'kill Dean' game." Then Dean changes gears, conversationally announces, "By the way, The Trickster, he's actually the archangel Gabriel. Pretty cool, huh?"

Sam's brow furrows in confusion. "Archangel…I…?! No Dean, not cool…" Then he exhales, knows he needs to calm down if he wants Dean to really listen to him. "Point is…." But it's there he stops, knows the next thing out of his mouth, it's one of those make-it-or-break-it moments but he's 99% sure he needs to cross that line. '_Yeah, not like that 1% hasn't screwed me before_,' he sardonically thinks but can't go on not knowing where he and Dean stand, just praying the future will work itself out. So yeah, he needs to get his feelings out there and brace for the fallout.

Under Dean's patient stare as he waits for him to get his crap together, Sam realizes Dean is willing to give him the floor, to hear him out. To maybe have them do things differently this go around. Better. So Sam makes his plea, "I need to know if what I want matters to you, Dean." '_That I want you safe and if you can't be safe…I want to be at your side._'

And Sam would suggest they be partners, share the weight of the camp responsibilities but that never fairs well in their dynamics. And besides, the camp, its Dean's. His as much as the Impala was. Something Dean earned, treasured, protected, _deserved._ At that reference, Sam's eyes can't help but stray to the Impala and Sam fights down a swallow of grief at the state of the car his brother once loved above all worldly possessions. '_Save one…that amulet, your gift to him years ago_.'

Those thoughts cause Sam to say something different than he planned. "That we're going to have each other's backs." '_Not walk away when things get tough again, to not let our yearning to save the world, to right our wrongs, end up destroying our brotherhood all over again.'_

Dean practically snorts in affectionate disbelief, like Sam's been told all this before and isn't getting it. "Course we are, Sam. We're together now and we're staying together this time," that last a declaration, a vow, a promise.

And Sam's latching onto that promise with every fiber he possesses. "Ok, then…I'm asking you to let yourself heal, to not go on this mission. To just…delegate it to someone else."

Seeing the objection in Dean's eyes, Sam acknowledges, "And yeah, I get that it's important…but is it more important than us?" And it's juvenile but suddenly he's holding his breath, anticipation and fear filling in his lungs instead of air.

When Dean calls to Yeager, beckons him back to the Jeep, Sam feels gutted that Dean's choosing the mission over him. He steps back, almost stumbles back really, and decides then and there that he won't hold Dean back any more from what he values more important than him. But Dean's next words have his head snapping up.

"Yeager, you're leading this one. Just keep out of the hot zone." Then Dean's stepping away from the Jeep, is letting Yeager slip behind the wheel, calmly stands there as his men leave on their mission, without him.

But Dean, he's not alone. Sam's standing at his side, not watching the Jeep roll out of the camp but watching his brother.

Turning, Dean sees an astonished smile on his brother's face, and he's proud that he's the one that put it there. "You do know that I get cranky when I'm bored," Dean grouses because it's easier than letting Sam's happiness at his decision get him all sappy.

"Poker?" Sam offers, as he turns for the cabin and Dean mirrors his actions.

"You suck at Poker, Sam," Dean teases, though that wasn't strictly true. Sam didn't suck ….was pretty good, course he had had an awesome teacher. But the thing with playing with Sam…he treated every hand like a landmine he had to defuse, without a timer counting down to hurry him along.

"Fine, then Scrabble it is," Sam replies innocently, barely holds back his mischievous smile when Dean's eyes narrow at his counter move and Dean accuses, "You manipulative jerk. Seriously, a friggin' Scrabble board survived the zombie apocalypse. You know I hate Scrabble."

"I know," Sam gloats as he and Dean maneuver through the high grass. And Sam is more than content at the prospect of a few days with Dean recuperating and grumbling about how badly he beat him in Scrabble.

"No using Latin this time," Dean qualifies.

"Fine, no using band names," Sam shoots back.

Chuck, overhearing, turns from his path and starts trailing behind the two men, asks, "Hey, you guys gonna play Scrabble? I love games. Can I play?"

"No," Sam and Dean say in synch as they continue to head for Sam's cabin, setting more rules as they go.

And Chuck tries not to take their refusal personally. After penning their life story for years, he knows them well enough to know that it might not be star gazing on the Impala's hood or a rock concert but they still take their down time together seriously, almost as seriously as they take their one-on-one competitions.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	27. Chapter 27: Peace

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 27: Peace

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Their first mission together, it feels like their years apart never happened. They don't need words, have each other's backs and when they are almost home…it only takes one exchanged look to know they are thinking the same thing.

Yeager's infected.

Grimly, Dean knows what he has to do, doesn't mean it isn't turning everything in his stomach to acid. Part of him wants to just dump Yeager out of the Jeep, let him go.. even as he knows he can't, that Yeager knows where the camp is, would lead other croats back to it. Because, like it or not, his protégé was unwillingly changing sides even if Yeager was the last to know it.

'_And I'm not gonna enlightening him. He doesn't deserve to bear that weight_,' Dean decides, doesn't blame Yeager…blames himself.

So he let's things play out as they need to, drives them back to camp like nothing's wrong but in his head, he's already mapping out his moves. Maybe give Yeager a beer, wait until he's turned his back on him…before he does the deed.

What Dean isn't expecting once he's cut the engine and Yeager's hopping from the back of the Jeep is for Sam to use the spelled handcuffs on _him,_ to lock him to the steering wheel. "Sam, unlock these cuffs! Now! He's infected, has to be put down. We can't let him infect anyone else in the camp."

"I know," Sam bleakly agrees, pain in his tone, but not for Yeager but for Dean. Because he knows how this will affect his brother.

"Then what's with the bondage, dude? Unless….am I…" Fear clutches Dean's heart at the idea that he's infected too, that somehow he had been cut and bled on, is just as clueless as Yeager that the end is coming.

Reading his brother's expression, Sam quickly reassures, "No, no! You're fine Dean."

Guiltily relieved at his own good health while Yeager can't claim the same, Dean hollowly declares, "Then you know what I need to do."

Unflinchingly holding Dean's gaze, Sam announces, "I'll do it."

But Dean's shaking his head. "It's my job…"

"We're in this together now," Sam vows then he gets out of the Jeep and coldly shoots Yeager in the back. Refusing to dwell on the corpse at his feet, Sam strides back to the Jeep, open's the driver's door and uncuffs Dean. Deliberately doesn't meet Dean's eyes, can't. Knows he's not strong enough to bear Dean's anger right then. Almost misses his brother's quiet, "Thank you, Sammy."

Startled to find that with just three words his brother's alleviated his fears, Sam raises his eyes to Dean, is struck by the stifling guilt shining in his brother's eyes. Reaching a hand out, he squeezes the juncture of Dean's neck and shoulder and leans close. "Whatever weight you're carrying, I'm carrying too." And the words aren't new, he said them once before, but this time, he means them. Will not revoke his offer, no matter what revelations Dean ever makes.

"I liked him," Dean hoarsely says, watching through the windshield as Yeager's body is taken by the two other men who were on this particular mission.

"I know you did," Sam quietly replies, hates that Dean's lost another person he cares about. Gently tugging on Dean's arm, he gets Dean moving, climbing out of the car. And he blocks whatever reaction Cas, who's come running onto the scene, is about to make with just a solemn but firm shake of his head.

So the brothers slip by Cas, take little notice of any of the camp's onlookers, are in a world that consists of just the two of them, like it's been for most of their lives when they had to deal with the worst their lives had to throw at them.

"Will anyone in camp try to retaliate for Yeager?" Sam asks because he needs to know if Dean's in danger. If someone will come after his brother even though he's the one that killed Yeager.

"You mean like Scott did for Gabe?" And when Sam nods, Dean lowly but confidently replies, "No."

Yeager wasn't close enough to anyone for that type of devotion, wasn't loved enough for someone to be blinded by vain hope that he didn't have to die. '_Yeager didn't have Cas threatening people if they returned without him, didn't have Sam begging him to beat all odds and live, didn't have two people in his life willing to risk everything just to save him.'_

And Dean isn't sure who is more lucky: him for being loved so fiercely or Yeager because it's over for him now. Yeager had fought his last fight and, some would say he lost, but not Dean. Because Yeager checked out with a clear conscience, never got a chance to hurt anyone he loved.

Dean wishes he could say the same.

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Dean doesn't go for a drink, just runs his fingers over his wall of weapons and Sam feels like a nervous mother, wants to warn him that the knives are sharp. Sam bites his lips so he doesn't let that admonishment slip out.

Dean knows what he does, that there was no hope for Yeager, that he had to die, was best for Yeager…was best for the camp. So he stays silent, doesn't bother Dean with unnecessary words.

But the melancholy can't keep its talons in Dean. Sam won't let it. So he pours a glass of whiskey and walks to Dean. Leaning his shoulder against the wall, his eyes only on Dean, he takes a swallow of the liquor, secretly enjoys the burn. Then he offers the glass to Dean.

The gesture captures Dean's attention and surprises him. Taking the glass in hand, he takes a swallow but doesn't down the remaining liquor, returns the glass back to Sam because it's his brother's drink, not his and shorting Sam's never been his style.

Sam can't hold back a smile when Dean predictably gives the glass back with the lion's share reserved for him. But Sam doesn't drink it, just possessively holds the glass, isn't interested in seeing Dean drink it either. "You didn't screw up," he firmly proclaims to counter what he knows Dean's thinking.

"I think Yeager would disagree," Dean disputes, voice raw with self-loathing.

"He knew the risks. No one forced him to go out there. You've made it clear, it's their choice whether or not to go on missions with you." Sam doesn't mention that he would get the men in the camp to do the missions, at gun point if it came down to it, because he wasn't going to let Dean stubbornly go it alone if there were no volunteers to have his back. But there was never a need for such tactics from Sam, not when Dean garnered loyalty like he did. And some part of Sam should be jealous…but he isn't. Is too grateful that that trait of his brother's ensured Dean was surrounded by people willing to die rather than see harm come to him.

At Sam's words, Dean turns to this brother, growls out indignantly, "_Their choice_?! If it was, then they are all stupid!" Spinning from his wall of weapons, he doesn't head for his private liquor cabinet but for the door. But before he gets half way across the room, Sam speaks.

"Yeager counted the days," Sam says out of the blue, hoping to lure Dean into caring, into staying, into listening to him.

Not stopping, Dean derogatorily shoots over his shoulder, "What? Until I got him killed?"

"No, the days you gave him that he wouldn't have had without you." Sam feels a thrill of optimism when Dean's steps slow, when his brother doesn't leave, instead turns back to face him. Now blessed with his brother's eye contact, he continues, "He said that his family had been turned, were intent on turning him so he ran but other croats found him, had him cornered. And he knew he was a goner, then you came storming in, got him out of there…gave him a 2nd chance to live."

Seeing that the memories both hurt and heal his brother, Sam gentles his voice and reveals, "Dean, Yeager counted every day after that as a victory, as a gift he was given and didn't deserve. He took what reprieve you gave him and tried to do good with it. He wouldn't curse you for his death…he'd thank you for the giving him the chance to help others. The last thing he would want is to infect anyone…or for you to think he regretted coming to this camp, following you."

Tallying all the people that Yeager saved, all the ways the younger man kept the camp running, Dean pulls in a shaky inhale but nods his head, realizes Sam's right. Thinks maybe both he and Yeager were lucky. Yeager was lucky to be at peace and Dean is lucky to have his brother back. "I…I don't know who I'd be by now if you weren't here, Sam," he candidly says even as he's pretty sure he knows exactly the type of heartless monster he would have turned into by now.

Sam knows only too well what Dean means. Because he had contemplated, time and again, where his own path might have led, the choices he might have broken down and made if he hadn't been reunited with Dean. And it terrified him.

Sam's gaze locks with Dean's. "You'd be my big brother, everything else…" Shrugging, he earnestly declares, "doesn't matter."

Suddenly Dean remembers that he had his shot at peace once, and turned it down. Turned it down because he chose his family, his friends, his country, his world over kicking back with a bowl of popcorn and watching the end of the world. And the choice had felt wrong a lot of days over the past few years, felt so selfish today, as he watched Yeager die by his brother's hand. Until Sam reminded him peace didn't trump the goodness Yeager had done, didn't hold a candle to Dean being with his family, with the people that he loves and who love him back, even if they were in the midst of the apocalypse.

"Dean?" Sam worriedly calls, saw the faraway look in his brother's eyes and didn't know if it was a good sign or a bad one. When Dean blinks and he looks at him, finally sees him, Sam asks, "You alright?"

But Dean needs to clear his throat, to swallow down the grief and the strange contentment before he makes his reply. "Yeah." But his comeback doesn't erase the troubled scowl on his brother's brow so he teases, "Sounds like you're rocking some big brother adoration there. So you finally ready to admit you're just a cheap knock off of my perfection."

"Perfection?!" Sam scoffs, more than willing to return to more familiar ground with Dean. "More like Mom and Dad were so discouraged with how you turned out that they waited four years before they risked having another kid. Lucky for them and you, they struck gold the second time around. "

"Gold? Come on! You're more like…. aluminum," Dean jeers, loves the scowl Sam's giving him and knows that, aluminum…it's his favorite metal of all times.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	28. Chapter 28: Head Games

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 28: Head Games

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Sam's flipping his crap. And part of Dean knows it's the infection and the other part of him knows it's so much more, is everything crashing down on his brother while his guard is down. While he's lost in his own head, not sure what's real and what isn't.

It takes Dean back to Sam in the panic room, talking to people who weren't there…. yelling for him. For him to let him out….to help him. '_And I never did_.'

Sam's shout of "Don't touch me!" brings Dean back to the present to see his brother skittering away from Cas' touch, from Risa's gentle words. Though his height has him towering over Cas and Risa, Sam suddenly seems small..vulnerable. Especially when he stumbles back in retreat until his back's hitting a wall and then he shifts himself right into a corner.

But to prove that Winchesters are often down but never truly out, Sam grabs the table beside him and knocks it over, creates a roadblock that anything that wants him has to go through. Bending down, he picks up the shard of glass from the cup of water that sailed to the ground when the table went, deftly holds the shard in his hand in an offensive grip. Is uncaring that blood's dripping from his palm as his makeshift weapon hurts him before he even gets the chance to use it on anyone else.

And that's enough for Dean. He won't let this go on any longer. It has gone on far too long as it is. Turning to his friends, he commands "Leave" and Risa does but Cas only draws to his side like he thinks his order was only for Risa, that they will handle the Sam thing together. "You too, Cas," Dean clarifies, is thankful for Cas' loyalty, his friendship but this right now is about him and Sam, about them being brothers, about his screw up and Sam's.

"Dean, he's not thinking straight," Cas points out. Sam roughly shoving Dean away from him, causing Dean to slam into the cabinet as he leaped from his bed moments ago is more evidence of that than Cas needed. "He might not realize it's you." Wanting Dean to face just how badly things could go, he spells it out for his friend, "He might hurt you."

Dean's response is automatic, preprogrammed, instinctive…even if not true. "Sam wouldn't.."

"He has before," Cas brutally cuts through Dean's delusion, knows Sam has hurt Dean before, emotionally..and physically. His mind can't help but return to the memory seared into his soul, of Sam choking Dean in that hotel room. And he had wanted to go there, to stop Sam, to save Dean…but Zachariah had forbidden him to interfere, had said Dean needed to know that his brother had taken sides and it wasn't with him. '_I won't stand idly by again and let them hurt each other, even unintentionally_.'

Dean flinches at Cas's direct hit, has tried so very hard to switch gears, to block out those types of memories since Sam's come back. Memories he had prodded like a wound the years they were apart, needed that pain to keep himself from missing Sam, to help him remember why he had left Sam, why he shouldn't even want Sam back.

Straightening his stance and holding Cas' troubled gaze, Dean undauntedly announces, "Guess now he'll get his chance to hurt me again. Go Cas," he bids with a jerk of his chin toward the door, but hidden under his exterior is a plea for Cas to just let him do this. Because he needs to do it, alone, for Sam's dignity and for his own in case things go sideways. Needs to know if he can trust Sam. If the little brother who once protected him as fiercely as Dean protected Sam is still there when push comes to shove, if that Sam even exists anymore. Or if Dean just wants him to.

Seeing the familiar stubborn set to Dean's jaw, Cas knows it will be an uphill battle to change Dean's mind but he's willing to wage that war to ensure no more scars mar his friend's soul. '_Not to mention how crappy Sam will feel if he does hurt Dean while he's not in his right mind_,' because Cas wasn't stupid or blind, knew that Sam never forgave himself for any harm he brought to Dean, just lugged it inside, somewhere deeper than Dean even carried his own guilt. So deep Sam could pretend it didn't exist and Dean never saw…but Cas had once had heavenly insight at his disposal, saw what was there, would always be there.

"I'm staying, Dean," Cas steely vows, unabashedly going toe to toe with his fearless leader.

Dean rolls his eyes. "Cas, I'm not some delicate flower, I can subdue my little brother if he gets cagey."

"_Gets_ cagey?!" Cas incredulously repeats, eyes going over Dean's shoulder to Sam who is crammed into a corner brandishing a glass shard.

"Ok, _more_ cagey," Dean clarifies, knows Cas is going to protest even as his friend opens his mouth. Changing tactics, he quietly cuts across Cas' intended objection with an earnest declaration of "I owe him this, Cas. I …I left him out there to get…." Dean's hand drifts in the air, toward his delirious brother caught up in old memories and he swallows hard. "…to get sliced and diced and hunted and…." Dean's voice breaks as he thinks of all the scars Sam bears. Shaking his head, he looks away. Doesn't know how to verbalize it all, that he owes Sam privacy to have his breakdown, that he should be the one to pull Sam back from the brink, to find some way to conquer his brother's tormented memories, to make things better for Sam…like Sam had for him just by stepping into the camp.

Dean's words remind Cas that, Sam may wear his scars on the outside, but Dean wears his on the inside. Sam's are there for all the world to see, Dean's are there for no one to see. '_Unless Dean lets down his guard, unless he trusts you enough to show you his pain…like he just did now, for me.'_ Cas sighs, eyes slipping back to Sam before alighting again on Dean, knows that he can't betray Dean's trust, doesn't want it. '_And right now, that means you have to walk out the door, let him handle Sam, even get hurt if it goes that way.'_

But he finds that, he trusts too, trusts Sam to not seriously hurt Dean, to pull himself out of whatever terror he's in rather than do great harm to his brother. Just like he trusted that Sam hadn't said the Big Yes, wouldn't, not when it meant betraying, hurting his big brother.

So CAs reaches out, gives Dean's shoulder a squeeze and reassures, "Sam doesn't blame you for what he's been through, Dean, but you're right, you're the one that can help him heal." Then he turns to go but then swings back around, says with a smirk, "And watch out for Sam's uppercut. That's the one you always fall for." Giving his best friend a mischievously wink, he hears Dean's peevishly grumble of "Do not!" as he slips out of the cabin, trusts the brothers to do what they do best: mend what's broken in each other.

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With how skittish Sam is, his eyes tracking the room like he is seeing croats everywhere, Dean makes his voice soft and soothing as he slowly approaches his brother, who's still heartbreakingly cowering in the corner. "Ok, it's just you and me. Nobody else from camp and no croats. Just us."

Starting to slowly slide the overturned table out of his path to his brother, it hurts Dean to see Sam try and scurry back deeper into the corner, to swipe his makeshift weapon through the air like he's under attack. Dropping into a crouch to be at his brother's eye level, Dean promises with every fiber of his soul, "Nothing's gonna hurt you, Sammy. I won't let it. Not this time."

Something in his tone manages to catch Sam's attention, stills his brother's frantic defensive moves, has his hands limply dropping to his legs and Sam's blown eyes sighting on him. Encouraged, Dean shuffles closer and when his brother doesn't recoil at his nearness or attack, Dean sits Indian style in front of Sam.

Holding out his arms, Dean ignores Sam's flinch when he almost touches him. '_At least I've snagged Sam's attention and didn't get a glass shard in my eye for my trouble_.' Under his brother's wary watch, Dean pushes up his sleeves, shows off his unmarred forearms and wrists. "See, no cuts. I'm not sharing bodily fluids with anyone. 'Sides, you know that grosses me out."

Timidly, Sam reaches out toward Dean with his free hand, lightly touches Dean's arm even as his eyes swing up from Dean's arm to Dean's eyes, waiting for the trap. But Dean remains absolutely still, unblinkingly meets Sam's, thankfully, clearing gaze. Dropping his gaze and the glass shard, Sam concentrates on inspecting the proffered arms, skims his fingers from his brother's elbow to his wrist on both arms before frantically latching onto Dean's wrist with his bloody hand.

Dean winces, not at the terrible grip Sam's got on his wrist but at the blood, at his brother's blood spilling when it didn't have to. Shouldn't ever. Wordlessly watching Sam, Dean isn't sure if it's a good thing or not when Sam closes his eyes. When Sam's eyes fly open, they come up to his, seemingly searching for the truth. "Dean?" Sam hoarsely stammers.

Gracing his brother with a fond smile, Dean drawls, "You know anyone else who'd sit on the floor with you?" Registering Sam's reluctance to believe that he's real, that they are together, he gently says, "Last time we did this, we needed a talking board to communicate."

Sam's eyes widen at the reference of Dean in a coma with a Reaper after him. "Couldn't see you," he quietly mumbles, those memories a convoluted mix of terror, grief, relief and joy.

Encouraged by Sam's moment of lucidity, Dean softly mocks, "Yeah, hence the need for the talking board."

Bestowing a soft smile on Dean, Sam recalls, "Lady at the cash register where I bought it lectured me about it being evil, that I might open a door to the other side." His voice is choked as he says, "I told her…I hope so."

Dean feels his heart soften at his brother's words, at knowing how desperate Sam was to reach him…like he now is to get through Sam's feverous illusions. "Clerk probably called a priest in to exorcise the evil mojos you left in your wake."

But Sam's doesn't react to that guess, his serious eyes are too busy reveling in his brother's every feature. "You're really here? You're really with me?"

And it's suddenly painfully clear to Dean, the true heartbreak their separation caused Sam. "Yeah, I'm with you, Sammy," he vows reverently. He isn't expecting Sam to surge forward, to engulf him in a desperate hug but he knows enough to return it.

Eyes closed, chin resting on Dean's shoulder, Sam beseeches, "Don't go anywhere this time. No matter what I do, please don't walk away from me."

Dean swallows down the horrible shame for having left Sam like he did. "I'm not going anywhere, Sammy."

"Promise?" Pulling back, Sam's eyes sear into Dean's with desperate need.

"Yeah, I promise," Dean guarantees and he means to keep his promise this time, no matter what. Watching the tension drain from Sam's body at his vow, at the faith Sam had in him to keep his word, Dean feels his throat close up, knows that, if he isn't careful, he'll be the one turning on the waterworks instead of Sam. "Can we get off the ground now?" he poses, using his contrived grumpy tone.

"Dude, you're so soft," Sam scoffs, releasing the killer grip he has on his brother.

"I'm not soft…I just have an aversion to getting splinters in my butt," Dean brashly denies.

"Sure," Sam sarcastically draws as they help each other to their feet but when Dean goes to step away from him, Sam snags his arm. But then Sam hesitates, knows how chick flicky his request is going to come out but can't not make the appeal. Clearing his suspiciously blocked throat, he bids, "Hey, can we just….hang out…you and me. Less you have leader stuff to do…" Because he couldn't be selfish with Dean, not when others were counting on his brother now.

But Dean's smile is all for him. "Brother stuff wipes the floor with leader stuff."

Sam snorts at his brother's unique way to turn a phrase, to say the most sentimental stuff and still come off as Joe Cool. But Sam's eyes flicker to the door then back to Dean. "They all saw me go crazy, huh?" he embarrassingly surmises. "Not great for your leader status, having a crazy brother on display." And he so didn't come there to mess things up for Dean, never that.

"Sam, they all think I'm a borderline psycho. You got a long way to go to give me a run for my money," Dean sardonically assures him.

"So it's a competition now?" Sam taunts, eyes sparking at the notion.

"Always," Dean instantly shoots back with a cocky smile. "And I never lose."

"What?!" Sam squeaks in mock outrage. "You're such a lair," but there's affection for that trait instead of condemnation in his tone.

"Watch it or I'll put Nair in your hair," Dean threatens with a smirk, remembering their prank wars.

"Like you could _find_ Nair," Sam jeers, not too worried over an undoable threat.

"For you, I find a way to do the impossible," Dean brags, is surprised when Sam eyes shine and his brother smiles warmly.

'_That's so true, big brother,'_ Sam thinks, intently says aloud, "I know you do." And Sam hopes Dean knows that it has nothing to do with Nair, prank wars, or the competitions between them and everything to do with the times Dean has saved him. Figures Dean understood all that his words incorporated when his brother shyly ducks his head, mutely helps him climb back into bed. Then Dean pulls his wounded hand onto his lap, wrapped a towel around it before he starts to unwrap the bandage around Sam's forearm where a barbwire mishap scratched him up pretty good.

"You wanna talk about what you were seeing?" Dean quietly asks, his eyes on his brother's wound instead of Sam's face.

"You know what I was seeing," Sam just as quietly returns, doesn't need to draw Dean a picture or to heap more undeserved guilt on his brother either. "But now the only scary thing I'm seeing is you," he jokes, wants to steer things away from the hard, unchangeable nature of their lives.

"Good to know," Dean demurs, keeping himself distracted by the sight of his brother's injury. "We have to track down some antibiotics, get this infection taken care of."

"Before I hurt someone…" Sam bitterly concludes, causing his brother's head to come up.

"_So you feel better, Sam_," Dean stridently counters, his only concern his brother's well-being.

"Re-open it…drain them again. Maybe second time's the charm," Sam strategizes, didn't want Dean going out of the camp in some reckless search for antibiotics for him.

Recognizing the plea in his brother's gaze, Dean sighs, still a pushover for his brother's puppy dog eyes. "Alright, Sam, we'll try it your way."

Unworriedly, Sam watches his brother pour alcohol over his knife, ready to reopen his wound, has complete trust in his brother's skill as a field medic. After all, his big brother has taken care of him his whole life, from scraped knees to bullet wounds. So a little barbwire mishap…it's totally child's play for his brother. '_It's my body that's not holding up to its warranty. Course I don't think the warranty covered multiple deaths, croat attacks and duking it out with hell minions.'_

He barely reacts to his brother's ministrations, keeps himself occupied studying Dean's face until Dean mocks him for it.

"Dude, I know I'm stunning but you're giving me that creepy Team Edward stare."

"Am not," Sam huffily denies but doesn't stop staring.

Putting the knife on the table, Dean prods, "OK, what?" as his eyes swivel from the now open and rebleeding wounds to his brother's curious expression.

"Meg…" Sam huskily begins, watches his brother's eyebrows go up in surprise at the name. "Meg and some of her friends found me…did…" he reaches up the hand not upturned on Dean's lap and traces the scar on his face, watches as his brother's features harden into hatred. "She wanted to bring me in, be the hero, reclaim her family "honor"." Here Sam snorts. "Twisted, huh? Her thinking her family had honor?!"

Jaw clenched, Dean bites out rancorously, "If only I had killed her before Bobby gutted himself to save me …and she did that to you." His eyes flickering to the scar down his brother's face.

Sam gives his brother a deadly smile. "You can take that off your to-do list," he declares, repeating Dean's words when he ended Azazel.

A proud wide smile lightens Dean's expression. "Nice, Sammy. And here I thought you weren't making friends out there."

Sam snorts at his brother's sarcasm. "Looks like you were the hit of the party too." Reaching out, he stills Dean's hand, his thumb tracing the scar there. "Bullet wound?"

Dean nods, vaguely recalls a bullet nicking him during the sniper fiasco. "Commando croats were encamped on a hill outside a city, snipering anyone who came down the road."

"So of course you thought it was a good idea to visit them?" a tinge of reprimand there at his brother's scary bravery.

Dean shrugs. "Not my best idea when we ended up going up against, not one sniper croat, but a sniper squad who were special forces in their former lives…and, oh yeah, had a few real possessed among their number." Doesn't mention one of those possessed practically confirmed that Sam said yes. '_More friggin' head games. I musta missed the 'how to emotionally screw over everyone and not make friends' mandatory class while I was in Hell.' _

Sam's eyes narrow, thinks he heard about this one, about the mission where Cas went against Dean's orders and then nearly beat Althouse into a vegetative state afterwards. Deciding to let Dean keep the other details of that particular mission to himself, he nods toward his brother's face, to the small scar on the right side of Dean's forehead. "Knife?"

"Glass," Dean corrects, self-consciously rubbing his thumb over the scar. At Sam's questioning look, he qualifies, "Had to dive out a warehouse window to escape a wave of croats who thought I should join their block party."

"Soft landing?" Sam asks, recalling the time he and Dean did the stuntman jump out of that second story church window. They would have broken both their legs if the importance of dropping and rolling wasn't ingrained in their heads.

Dean snorts. "Depends…does a Volvo roof count?"

"Only if it was a ragtop," Sam replies, knows better to think that was Dean's luck.

"Yeah, not quite," Dean grumbles but is smirking because he knows Sam appreciates a good escape- from-the-clutches-of-evil story.

"Didn't think so," Sam returns, a matching smirk in place.

"You wanna know all the times I cried too?" Dean sardonically challenges.

'Y_eah, I do. But you'd never tell me that.' _And part of Sam wishes Dean would just let down his guard, not bottle it up, not sentence himself to being the strong one for everyone else when he was busy breaking inside. Aloud Sam articulates the opposite of what he really wants to say to his brother. "Let's stick to just the physical damage. I'll let Chuck deal with your psychiatric episodes. He seems like your resident therapist."

"Chuck?!" Dean sputters in denial. "He's more likely to _need_ therapy than give it."

"Oh, I don't know. I think he really "got you" in his books, saw your softer side," Sam teases and waits for his brother's come back, which doesn't take more than a heartbeat.

"No, he…he "_got you_"…." Dean lamely rejoins, gives Sam a playful slap in the stomach when his little brother bursts into laughter. And Dean suddenly knows that, Sam's way stronger than any infection, is gonna be just fine. He'll see to it that he is.

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TBC

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	29. Chapter 29: Old Habits

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 29: Old Habits

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Chuck turned to watch as the convoy of Cas' truck and Dean's Jeep pulled up to the cabins, heard angry voices as the Winchesters exited their vehicle.

"As if we don't have enough on our plate, you did a hunt?!" Sam scolded, his eyes singing Dean's across the Jeep's hood.

"So, what?! They have to be in season now for us to put them down?!" Dean retorted, pushing off the Jeep and climbing the steps to his cabin.

Sam ran his hand down his face before turning to Cas for assistance. "Tell me you're not taking his side in this."

But Cas raised his hands. "I'm not taking sides. I like living." As the ex-angel passed Chuck, he gave an eyeroll to the former prophet at the drama between the brothers as he headed toward his own cabin.

"This a bad time to ask if you got any hygiene products," Chuck meekly asked Sam, had a battered but full box of tampons thrown into his face in response. Then Sam stalked by him, headed to his own cabin. Clutching the box, Chuck muttered, "Hope Risa and Cas' harem appreciate these," and turned to go to the supply barn. But his eyes strayed up to Dean's cabin, knew that, contrary to popular belief, Dean hated being at odds with the people that he loved. So his blow up with Sam …it'd be eating at him.

"This is a bad idea…" Chuck said under his breath even as he found his steps leading up to the cabin of their 'fearless leader', as Cas had dubbed Dean back in his reckless days, before Sam showed up, before there were good reasons for Dean to survive missions like the one today. Reaching the door, he raised his hand to knock, chickened out, spun on his heel, had taken two steps away before determinedly stalking to the door again and knocking. Hesitantly called, "Dean…hey it's Chuck," his voice cracking on his own name like he was going thru puberty.

"What!?" Came the shout from inside.

Bolstering his courage, Chuck asked, "Can I…Can I come in?" Waited a moment and thought he was being denied when the door was suddenly ripped open and an imposing Dean stood there, looking down at him. "We got your tampons, Chuck."

"They aren't mine.. they're for…" But Chuck fell silent, knew it was just a deflection he was falling for. '_Come on, you came here to see if he was OK, don't wuss out_.' So he straightened his stance and met the eyes of the man who came off all gruff but was the first person to help someone if they needed it. '_Or give them a pass when they wanted to stay safe and sound in the camp and do something noxiously like be a supply clerk_.'

Without waiting for an invitation, he boldly slipped in the door and shouldered by Dean, sat the tampons on the table so he didn't have to stand there clutching them for the conversation. When Dean arched an eyebrow of surprise at his audacity of entering the cabin without his ok and turned to him, Chuck blurted out, "That thing with you and Sam out there, he's not really mad at you, he's just ..protective." That only made both of Dean's eyebrows arch in disbelief. Chuck sighed, this was going to go rougher than he thought. "Come on, Dean. You know he's different since you two split up. He watches you like a hawk, obsesses about your mission plans, especially the danger to you."

"It's his OCD working overtime. He feels better checking and rechecking the plans, likes to know where all the players are at," Dean demurred, than gave a self-chastising laugh. "Not like the rest of us aren't prime examples of PTSD in action."

"No, it's not that. I mean, some of it is OCD and PTSD but…Dean, he doesn't want anything to happen to you. And you going after some …what did you go after?' But before Dean can answer, Chuck rushed on, "Well, doesn't matter, it's not a danger he had come to terms with you facing. So he's freaking out a little."

"He's fine and, if anyone would bother to ask me, I'm fine too. Not a scratch on me. So all this is over nothing," Dean declared.

But Chuck's eyes went wide. "Then why's your nose bleeding?!" And when Dean raised his hand and wiped the blood away with his fingers, he felt compelled to tag on, "And your hands shaking?"

Eyes flying up to Chuck, Dean ordered, "Chuck don't…" but the ex-prophet was already out the door running for help, didn't hear the rest of Dean's command, "…tell Sam or Cas."

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Chuck rushed through Sam's cabin door without knocking, breathlessly said in greeting, "Sam, something's wrong with Dean. He's …" Sam blew by him before he could say anymore, was running for his brother's cabin.

Dean sat at the table holding a rag to his nose, willed it to stop before Sam made his appearance. No such luck.

Sam about took the door off the hinges as he swept inside, was instantly crouching at Dean's side, hand on his brother's knee. "Dean?" asking for information.

"Nothing, nose bleed. You and I both know that Chuck's a wuss when it comes to the sight of blood."

'_So am I..when it's yours_.' "Ok, ok, I'll get a cold compress." Getting up and crossing to the refrigerator, Sam threw ice into a hand towel, rolled it up and returned to Dean. "Ok let me see."

"It's a nose bleed, not war wounds, Sam," Dean groused, jerking back slightly when Sam made a reach for him.

Exhaling in frustration at his brother's swagger, Sam gently but forcibly tugged Dean's hand down, saw the thick rivulet of blood oozing from Dean's nose that didn't show signing of letting up. Pressing the ice pack to Dean's face, he commanded, "Tilt your head back."

Dean did as he was told and his meek compliance down right scared Sam, had him sharply firing questions at his brother. "Did it hurt you? Dean, did it.."

"No. No, Sam. I told you that," Dean irritably volleyed back.

But Sam's inquisition continued. "You didn't hit your head, your nose?"

"If I did, I'd mention it right now, wouldn't I?" Dean snapped back, voice muffed by the ice filled towel.

"You're not helping," Sam huffed out.

"Sorry, blood loss must be making me cranky."

And that offhanded confession of weakness from his brother didn't dissipate but spiked Sam's worry because Dean admitting an infirmity was never a good sign. "Did it touch you or you touch it? We don't know much about it, do we? You just went in there blindly…" angry reprimand making his last words harsh.

At Sam's censorious judgment, Dean dropped his head forward, groused, "I got this" and pushed Sam away. Well, _tried_ to push Sam away.

Grabbing Dean's hand which was pressing against his chest, Sam shortcutted the shove Dean intended …and found his brother's hand was trembling in his hold. Realized that there were miniscule tremors surging through his brother's entire body. "Dean, you're shaking."

"Not a croatoan symptom …unless it's a new strand," Dean countered, a bit of worry creeping into his tone as his eyes came up to Sam's. "Sam, you better …"

"Shut up!" Sam growled, wouldn't even let Dean _think_ of telling him to shoot him before he turned. No, he knew it wasn't the virus, couldn't be. "It's not that, it's something else, something with the thing you took down today. Where do you keep the mojo supplies? We'll look through Dad's journal and Bobby's books. We'll find what that thing was and find out how to treat this," he stated confidently, didn't let his plaguing doubt show because it wasn't like research was fast anymore, not without the internet or libraries to hit up for info.

"Wait, I think it's done bleeding," Dean hopefully ventured, praying he was finally having some good luck right when he really needed it. Slowly lowering the makeshift ice pack, he dabbed his fingers under his nose, mercifully didn't come away with blood on his fingers. "See nosebleed is over. I'm good."

Biting his lip, Sam studied Dean, then he rashly cupped Dean's cheek before Dean could jerk away. "You're feverish and still trembling."

"Dude, I'm not friggin' trembling. Real men do not tremble," Dean protested, trying for his usual snarkiness.

"Maybe you're just sick," Sam theorized, more to himself than Dean.

"I'm not sick, so back off with the hovering," Dean groused, knew if he admitted he wasn't feeling 100% Sam would continue to think the worst, that they needed to study up on the monster he offed that day and that wouldn't end good for him. "Only you could make a federal case over a nose bleed. Well, you and _Chuck_."

Wanting Dean to not be lying, Sam gently cross-examined, "You're really feeling better?"

"What? You need my statement signed and notarized?" Dean quipped, relieved to see some of his brother's concern easing.

"Ok but…how about you lie down, keep hydrated." At Dean's smirk, Sam clarified, "With water, Dean, not booze."

"Kill joy," Dean muttered, but he was pretty proud of himself for his acting abilities, knew he was almost in the clear. Until Cas showed up and undid all his hard work conning Sam.

"Chuck said Dean was bleeding?" Cas opened with as he stormed through the cabin door, forehead creased as he took in the tame sight before him. But he had learned to not trust such outward appearances, especially when it came to his best friend. So ignoring Dean's scoffing, "I had a lousy nosebleed, wasn't hemorrhaging out of my pours," he crossed the room and unceremoniously touched Dean's forehead, not with two fingers like an angel would but with his palm, like a worried mother.

When Cas' eyes widen and dropped to meet his, Dean feared the gig was up. Then his friend's words sealed his fate.

"You're in pain," Cas anxiously declared. The tendril essence of his angel mojo had sent his friend's pain sparking between their physical connection.

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Sam was pissed at him, Dean, who was presently relegated to his bed, got that even without Sam's baleful accusation.

"Thought we were done with all this lying to each other!"

Dean took that as a rhetorical statement and chose to not reply to it, which had Sam shaking his head at him like he couldn't believe he was saddled with him as a brother. But Sam's words discounted his thoughts.

"What? You expect me to think you _deserve_ being in pain just because you did something I don't approve of?!" Sam accurately guessed his brother's shamed expression.

Quietly Dean confessed, eyes trailing away from his brother's hot glare, "You were pretty pissed and that was _before_ you were proven right."

"_Right_?!" Sam incredulously repeated. "I don't want to be right…I want you to be ok, Dean," his worry cracking his voice on his brother's name. Nervously, he rubbed his hand over his mouth before he straightened his shoulders. "Ok, so back to my earlier question. Where are the mojo herbs? And the journals and books?"

Dean didn't dare look to Cas, who had claimed a chair at the table to watch the drama unfold. Dean simply clamped his mouth shut and stared blankly at Sam, hoping to deter his brother from repeating his question.

"Where are the supplies, Dean?" Sam pressed, wasn't recognizing the reluctance ebbing off of his brother.

Deciding that wishing wasn't making Sam's question go away, Dean raised his chin defiantly and gruffly announced, "I threw them out."

Stunned, Sam opened his mouth then closed it before he calmly asked, "All of them."

"Yeah, all of it," Dean confirmed, braced for the maelstrom he knew was brewing in his brother to blow his way.

Sensing by the evasive look in Dean's eyes that there was more to Dean's action than spring cleaning, Sam didn't rail at his brother, instead sighed and went to the next part of his plan. "Ok, I'll look through those books I made you lug around and you hated that they took up trunk space." But at Dean's awkward look, he swallowed, surmised that Dean had thrown out anything that he deemed his when he thought he had betrayed him by saying yes. So he hurriedly suggested, "Fine, then Bobby's books." When Dean gave a slight shake of his head, Sam frowned in distressed confusion. Tossing Bobby's books wouldn't have been about him and as far as he knew, Dean and Bobby had parted on good terms so it wasn't about spite.

"Guess we're down to Dad's journal…again," Sam tried to lightly joke, remembered that's how it started for them nine years ago when they hit the road from Stanford, just the two of them.

Dean swallowed, then confessed, his voice low and husky with disgrace, "That's gone, too," his eyes holding Sam's, knew he didn't have the right to shy away from Sam's anger.

"What?!" Sam sputtered because their Dad's journal was his last hope to cure Dean. "What do you mean _gone_?! As in you lost it or it got destroyed…"

"Gone, Sam! Gone… " But Dean's defensiveness fled as he softly spelled out, "Like… I pitched it."

At Dean's revelation, Sam became eerily still, his stunned eyes fixed on his brother. When he spoke, his voice was pitched gentle like he was dealing with a traumatized witness to something horrible, "Dad's journal and you just…"

"It wasn't a lot of use against the croatoan virus zombies, Sam," Dean belligerently deflected, as if his tossing their Dad's journal had everything to do with its uselessness and nothing to do with his mental state of utter despondency.

Sam paled at Dean's affirmation, knew Dean's actions, throwing away their Dad's journal, tossing the mojo supplies, abandoning the Impala, spoke volumes on his brother's emotional health at the time. Not wishing to callously tramp across Dean's obvious heartbreak, Sam dropped the subject, gently suggested instead, "Well, then we'll Samuel Colt it. He had to research his own stuff through trial and error and talking with other hunters, we'll just do that too."

Though he didn't deserve it, Dean appreciated Sam letting it drop that he had heartlessly thrown away their Dad's journal. After all, it had been Sam's heritage too. "Thanks, Sammy."

Understanding all that Dean was thanking him for, Sam gave a small smile and nodded his head and then his face brightened with an idea. "Wait, are there any other hunters in camp? Maybe they know what it was you took down."

"There are only two hunters in camp… and you're looking at them," Dean answered. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Cas tensing up at Sam's newest idea.

And it was just like Sam to not give up on a line of thought. "Ok, any nearby hunter hubs we can get to?"

"Ah…don't know," Dean tried to nonchalantly reply, like he wasn't fibbing just a little bit. But something in his response was off for Sam, had his brother slowly repeating his reply, gaze pinning him to the bed.

"You don't know."

Dean didn't bat an eyelash, lay there stoic like he didn't know Sam was interrogating him.

Eyes narrowing in suspicion, Sam worked hard to keep an accusation out of his tone. "So you never…I don't know, reached out to other hunters, sent them a flyer about your camp?"

"We were trying to save the people who couldn't defend themselves," Dean aloofly stated their camp motto but couldn't meet Sam's eyes. Not when he knew that wasn't all of it, not by a long shot. But then he manned up and met his brother's gaze, saw…hurt there and knew that this wasn't something he could do to Sam. Lie to him, hurt him. '_Just to cover up your own weakness._' So he bluntly confessed, "You know what, that's a lie."

Sam's eyebrows arched at his brother admission but he didn't get a change to ask what part was a lie before Dean was continuing.

"I didn't want hunters here," Dean emphatically stated, watched Sam's expression morph to bewilderment.

Cas entered the conversation for the first time. "We didn't want them here." And that garnered him what he wanted, drew Sam's attention from Dean to him. By Sam's probing look, he expected to get more out of the ex-angel than his brother. Which he did. Eyes intentionally on the younger Winchester and not Dean, Cas resentfully said, "Before the virus went widespread, the hunters we came across thought they knew how things really went down, treated Dean like he was evil incarnate."

"Cas…" Dean warned, didn't want Cas defending him, especially to Sam who knew just how at fault he was for the world's present state of affairs.

Ignoring Dean's command to shut up, Cas growled angrily, "So screw them. I didn't want them here because they'd tread Dean like crap and Dean didn't want them here because they'd tell others…" Suddenly, Cas broke off his words, realized where his big mouth had lead them. Shamed, he shot an apologetic glance to Dean, who returned it with a '_yeah, see what you stepped into_" look of mild rebuke.

But Sam was smart, didn't need Cas to finish his sentence, could put the pieces together himself. "Tell the camp about me, my part in the apocalypse, what I did to Dean."

"Hey, you didn't do anything to me," Dean protested, didn't need Sam feeling guilty for the repercussions of _his _shortcomings, not his little brother's.

Ignoring his big brother's forgiveness and protective rant, Sam gratefully directed to Cas, "You did the right thing." Protecting Dean. '_Not letting people judge Dean for my actions…or his own_.'

Incredulous, Dean stammered from his prone position, "Wait…what?! I get your pissed look for not knowing the location of other hunters and Cas gets an 'atta boy' for it?!"

Returning his focus to his brother, Sam drawled, "Cas wasn't the one who did something _stupid, _like go on a hunt_,_ that makes hunter knowledge important right now."

Catching Cas' cocky smile, Dean groused to his friend, "You're such a suck up."

"I'm ok with that," Cas unrepentantly replied, would willingly take Sam's side against Dean when it came to things he and Sam resolutely agree on: like keeping Dean alive and well and knocking out anyone's teeth who dared bad mouth Dean.

As the friends exchanged their taunts, Sam fought down a moment of panic, didn't remember a time when his resources were so limited, when it seemed it was entirely up to him to save his brother. There was no Bobby to call, no Dad's journal to scour, no books to consult, no fellow hunters to collaborate with, was just him, Dean and Cas and whatever monster lore and hunter know-how they collectively knew.

He felt his chest tighten at the notion that they weren't enough, didn't know enough, weren't smart enough, that he was going to let Dean down. Worse, that he was going to lose his brother, once and for all.

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** TBC**

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I just couldn't resist throwing in this cliffie, could I?

Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	30. Chapter 30: Flying Blind

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 30: Flying Blind

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_Sam felt his chest tighten at the notion that they weren't enough, didn't know enough, weren't smart enough, that he was going to let Dean down. Was going to lose his brother, once and for all._

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Sam startled when a hand snagged his jacket sleeve, looked down to the bed to see Dean worriedly staring at _him_.

"Hey, you ok?"

And that was so Dean! To ask if he was ok when he was the one in pain, was maybe… Sam cut himself off, wouldn't let himself think that way. Ever. Nodding in answer to his brother's question, he drew in a steadying breath and got himself under control. "So what did this thing look like? By the time I got there, your flare had pretty much turned it into a burning piñata."

"Lizardy," Dean brusquely supplied. At Sam's put-upon look of exasperation, he clarified, "Scales, forked tongue, the size of a medium dog. Sucker could move fast though and had razor sharp teeth."

Uneasily, Sam began, "How do you know…."

"Victims," Dean cut in before his brother wanted to strip search him looking for bite marks. "Croat and otherwise. They had big tears in their flesh, were ripped apart like a bag of candy." Didn't want to mention the one dead guy he had come across that had only a seemingly non-lethal bite on his leg.

"So they all suffered mortal wounds?"

'_And leave it up to Sam to know the right question to ask_.' Clearing his throat, Dean hedged, "Not all."

Paling at the implications, Sam grimly surmised, "Meaning it's the bite that kills, not the wound."

"Yeah," Dean unhappily agreed, knew that it was his luck that he could come away from a hunt scratch free and still get the short end of the stick. On that cheery note, he rolled to his side, clutched onto the mattress and curled in on himself, trying to lessen his pain and keep his increasing nausea from taking over.

Guessing the prompt for his brother's new position, Sam immediately crouched down beside the bed, softly asked, "Hey, hey..you feeling worse?" though he already knew the answer as he raptly studied his brother's paling complexion.

It was on Dean's tongue to deny it but recognizing the earnest concern in his brother's eyes, he relented. "I won. How come I feel like crap?" he grumbled, telling Sam the truth even as he made light of it, hopefully dampen some of the worry pouring off his little brother.

Sam forced a smirk for Dean's sake, knew his brother was trying to get him to notch down his fear factor. "'Cause it's a _Winchester_ win," he sardonically drawled, felt he had done a good thing when his brother snorted in response.

"Yeah, right. And our wins tend to suck."

Putting his hand on Dean's shoulder, Sam could feel the shivers coursing through Dean as he met his brother's gaze, optimistically reported, "But we're making headway on figuring this out."

It was Cas who jeered from his position at the table, "Headway?! You just found out the lizard creature had a venomous bite. Last time I checked our supply closet, we were fresh out of antivemon." Because Sam might be able to sell Dean the rainbows and unicorns version of how this might play out but Cas didn't have the luxury of believing good won out. Had witnessed how the good, like Dean, tended to get shredded apart.

Angry at Cas' negativity, Sam stood up, snapped at the seated man, "You're the angel. Why don't you whip up some antivenom."

Climbing to his feet to face off with Sam, Cas gritted out, "**Ex**angel and not only do we not have the venom from what Dean BBQ'ed today but I've found there's a shocking lack of laboratory space these days. Not to mention the time it would take to inject it into a horse, sheep, rabbit or goat, wait for their bodies to create antibodies, if they even could, and then finally, weeks down the road, we'd…. waalaa…. have an antivemon for whatever Dean tangled with. Sure, simple. Why didn't I think of that."

"Not helping, guys," Dean growled, closing his eyes. The raised voices not doing a lot to settle his stomach or take the edge off the trembling, yes, dang it, trembling he was doing. "'Sides this wasn't your garden variety kid-pet-gone-rogue lizard, more freaky fast, had a taste for human flesh and glowing eyes cousin to Godzilla." Looked up as he sensed Sam's focus was back on him.

"But you don't know what it was?"

There was that reprimand again and Dean knew he could get angry or simply do something that would annoy Sam. He chose option B. Scowling up at Sam, who was friggin' looming over him, he sallied, "We didn't have an insightful conversation, no. I tracked it, it charged at me, I lit it up like a fraternity bonfire. And that concluded our bonding time."

Cas came to Sam's side, took up the looming thing too. "So it never touched you?"

"Not one scale."

"Saliva," Sam suddenly deduced.

Dean's face scrunched up in disgust. "No way, dude! There was no spit swapping."

"Not from you to it but you found the victims. And you _touched_ them…their wounds," Sam stressed, because that was Dean, always touching things he shouldn't. '_And don't get me started on how many times he's eaten things he shouldn't, got cursed, drugged and then there's all the high cholesterol_.'

"Maybe" Dean evasively muttered, because ok, he might have got slimy goo on his fingers from the one stiff's torn up chest but he totally wiped it off on the dude's jacket pronto.

"The saliva has the venom and if Dean touched the wounds the venom could have entered his blood stream that way. Definitely not your normal reptilian form of transmitting venom," Cas theorized, gave his friend, who looked pitiable curled up in the bed, a sympathetic glance.

"Great. Now let's get it _out_ of my blood stream," Dean groused, glaring up at his two knights in shining armor. Even felt encouraged by Sam's deep-thinking professor expression..until his brother posed another question that had a crappy answer to it.

"Dean, the non-lethal wounds, how old…"

"You mean how _long,_ right?" Dean countered, held Sam's eyes because it was time to stop telling each other fairy tales, time to be the hunters they were. To accept the realities of a situation, no matter how crazy…or bleak they were. "How long until I'm dead. Leg wound on the dead guy that I saw …it was only a couple hours old, Sam. "

And Sam could almost hear Dean saying it all over again. '_I'm gonna die and you can't stop it.'_

Cas waited for Sam to say something encouraging, to rally the troops, to tell Dean he'd be ok, heck, to tell him that Dean would be ok. But Sam just stood there, rooted in place, his face nearly crumbling. And he suddenly wondered if this was the new Sam, the one the world had broken, that had been forged in the ashes of Dean's abandonment. A Sam that didn't know how to hope…or how to offer it to his brother.

Resigned that he was going to have to put on his happy face and lie to Dean, try and convince his best friend that they knew what the heck they could do to stop his pain… to save him, Cas started to skirt by Sam to reach Dean's side. But he had only taken a step when Sam claimed a seat on the bed beside his brother, reached out and lightly rested his hand on Dean's head. Dean closed his eyes like the touch gave him comfort.

And Cas had seen it before, when he was an angel, had no true notion then of how it worked. How the brothers could say nothing…and yet communicate. Like they were doing right now. But since he had become human, Cas understand the importance, the value, the tremendous gift it was…having what he had once called a 'profound bond' with another human being. Dean had given that to him…even when he couldn't emotionally reciprocate in kind. Not like Sam always could. Still knew how to even after the horrors he had been through the past years.

Noticeably swallowing a moment later, Dean forfeited the enticing darkness and turned his head to face his brother. "I screwed up, Sammy," he hoarsely admitted and apologized. Didn't mean to put Sam through this…or Cas either.

Bending down closer to Dean, Sam gently but resolutely vowed, his eyes latched onto his brother's, "Hey, I'll fix this. I will." And Dean's minimal but steadfast nod of conviction, it almost undid Sam. Because his brother putting his faith…his life in his hands after everything he had done, that was almost as overwhelming as the weight of having to fulfil the promise he just made.

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Pacing the room, Sam conjectured, "Alright. So we're running with this being a supernatural creature and a supernatural infection." He anxiously looked to Dean at the moment, who was silently watching him with his glazed eyes.

Knowing that he had to appear lively for Sam's sake, Dean forced words through his terribly dry throat, "No arguments here."

"Which brings us back to the fact that we have no idea what type of creature you killed and consequently got poisoned by," Cas recapped, earning dark glares from both Winchesters. "Hey, I'm just brainstorming."

"Don't hurt yourself," Dean snarked, enjoyed Cas' glare. Thought he was handling everything ok…until his stomach roiled again and the room started to do that spinning thing. Clamping his jaw closed and squeezing his eyes shut, he kept himself utterly still, waiting for things to calm down. He didn't startle when a hand touched his forehead, but he opened his eyes when it wasn't Sam's voice he heard close to him but Cas'.

From his crouched position beside Dean, Cas said with guilty remorse as he lowered his hand from his friend's clammy hot forehead, "I should have stopped you, today from splitting off from me and Sam and …and a year ago from throwing out the books, the herbs."

But Dean shook his head. "My bad decisions…not yours, Cas."

Cas conjured up a bittersweet smile. "And let me guess, like always, it's my job to undo them, right?"

"It's what you signed on for," Dean sallied back, more grateful than he could verbalize for Cas' steadfast friendship all these years.

"Yeah, yeah it is," Cas vowed without regret. "So suck it up and when Sam and I undoubtedly save your bacon, we expect gratitude in the form of foot rubs…" here he looked over his shoulder at Sam, prompting him to make his own demands.

"Haircuts, decent ones," Sam specified.

"Ah….a whiskey bottle from your private collection…" Cas added.

"And an official 'charades night' of the week in camp," Sam bartered.

After the demands seem to have concluded, Dean's eyes flickered from Cas to Sam in contemplation before he bluntly elected, "Yeah, I'm not doing any of that crap."

"Sure you're not," Cas sarcastically agreed with affection, knew his friend's big heart even though he tried his best to hide it. "You better rest up now because I like _long_ foot rubs," he teased and gave Dean not only his permission but a prod to catch some sleep.

"Dream on," Dean snorted back but his eyes were closing, found he was taking Cas' advice to heart.

Though Dean's breath was an unsettling degree of shallowness, the man seemed to be asleep. Cas forced himself to stand up, to do something more productive than hover at his ill friend's side. Sensing Sam was watching him, he turned to Dean's brother, knew he had a lot to answer for. "Sam…when Dean was throwing out the books…and stuff." '_AKA ..your father's journal, something that could mean the difference between Dean's survival or death right now._' How could he make any excuses for his actions, for not stopping Dean, for maybe being the reason there was little hope of saving Dean.

But Sam understood, had already guessed at Dean's mental state then. Knew that if Cas argued with Dean over his decision…it might have fractured their friendship. And Dean needed Cas's friendship more than he needed some dusty books and herbs. Was true even now because Dean would rather die among family and friends than be alone. "You honored your friendship with Dean. I get that."

"Was an easy decision then and now…" Cas ran his hand down his face, wished he had made other choices. "Without those books…without your father's journal…."

"We'll figure something out. There are some basic formulas against supernatural infections…"

"That don't require hoodoo ingredients?" Cas skeptically prodded, knew the answer by the way Sam's eyes tightened at the corners.

"Well…then we find what we need," Sam resolutely said, wishing he was half as confident as he sounded.

Neither of them said what they were both thinking. Even if they scourged the nearest city, found the herbs…would they do it in time?

An unexpected knock on the door startled them and Chuck entered without permission, apparently was feeling courageous today, willing to garner the wrath of Winchesters. But his courage deflated as he saw Dean curled up in the bed, shivers wracking his frame, looking more like a wayward orphan alone in the world than the man who had kept them all alive for years, had told Heaven where to stick their ultimatums. "Is he…he's bad off isn't he?" Eyes going from Cas to Sam, neither man speaking, didn't need to speak, their grim features said it all. "Oh crap. I …the other guys, they mentioned animals had attacked some of the corpses they came across last mission but…what was it? Something supernatural right?"

Cas and Sam exchanged a look but it was Sam who admitted, "We don't know what it was."

"Ok…" Chuck drawled out, fidgeted in place a moment, his eyes drawn to Dean's miserable form. "But he's going to be fine, right?" Silence wasn't the most encouraging response he'd ever gotten, actually made him a bit angry…and unhinged. "Wait…you're the hunter…the angel and you don't know what he killed, what's wrong with him or how to help him?" accusation and panic causing his voice to rise.

That was it for Cas, didn't need Chuck, of all people, making him feel more guilty for failing his best friend. Non too gently latching onto Chuck's bicep, he pulled Chuck backwards out of the cabin, deposited him on the porch with a growl nearly as fearsome as his angelic one of "If you're not part of the solution, you're part of the problem."

Chuck's eyebrows suddenly climbed into his hair line and he cryptically declared, "I think I'm both," before promising, "I'll be back, " like Cas would protest his departure instead of having been in the process of evicting him from the premises.

Watching Chuck scamper off the porch and down the stairs at a run, Cas mockingly called after him, "Don't rush back on my account." Then under his breath he muttered, "What is it with prophets of the Lord…they can never catch a clue when they aren't wanted."

He reentered Dean's cabin to find that the guise of peace hadn't lasted. Dean was leaning over the bed, coughing up blood as Sam braced him in his arms.

The episode probably only lasted ten minutes but it seemed an eternity to Cas… and he had lived a couple thousand years.

With his momentary reprieve from spitting up blood, Dean grasped for air and rolled back into the bed, swiped at his blood coated lip with a trembling hand. Then Sam gently moved his hand aside, used a towel to rub away the blood from his brother's lips and chin. Flinched when he saw Dean's usually white teeth were coated in red.

"Get Chuck back in here," Dean requested, his voice raw and breathless.

"Sure, ok," Sam quickly agreed, would get Dean anything and anyone he wanted. But he had to ask, "Ah why?" Felt sick that a spike of jealousy surged through him at the idea that Dean didn't want him there…wanted _Chuck?_!

Rolling his head to better face his brother's panicked eyes, Dean smiled, didn't know his bloody teeth would distract his audience of one. "To pen the epilogue to my biography," Dean joked, didn't miss the jump in Sam's clenched jaw at his dark humor.

"Jerk," Sam flung back, his voice cracking on the insult and his eyes red rimmed.

Then as if Dean's wish had conjured him, Chuck dashed into the center of the room. Breathing heavy from his full out run back to the cabin, he gasped, " I…." before he leaned over, braced his hands on his thighs to try and regain enough air for speech.

Taking mercy on him, Cas came over and gave him a reassuring pat on the back, remembered Chuck had tried to do that for him when Raphael came for him but he had shunned the connection. Again, he hadn't really gotten the whole comforting-touch thing back then. "Just take small breaths."

Chuck nodded at Cas's instruction even as he stood up, his eyes seeking out only Dean. Stepping forward out of Cas' touch, he reverently approached the elder Winchester's bed. But his eyes darted nervously to Sam, wondered if the taller Winchester would snap him like a twig if he perceived him as a threat to his weakened brother. When Sam didn't lunge at him at his progress, Chuck returned his focus to Dean, winced at the man's worsening appearance. With hands that shook like Dean's were earlier, he held out a box, stammered to Dean, "It wasn't for a book plot…or to be nosy or…anything skanky, I swear."

Though intrigued, Dean was a little preoccupied with trying not to moan in pain to utter words. Found that he didn't have to when Sam spoke for him.

"What wasn't?" Sam almost gently asked because Chuck seemed skittish. And, as crazy as it was, he thought the ex-prophet might be on the verge of saying something that could change the odds for Dean.

But Chuck was still just looking at Dean, like Sam and Cas weren't even there. "I thought you'd …regret it. Throwing it out." Then he clumsily balanced the box in his hands, opened the lip, pulled something out of its depths and reverently held it out to Dean.

Dean was speechless, couldn't quite believe that Chuck had stashed away John Winchester's journal. That his Dad's journal was right there, hadn't been used for firewood long ago or ravaged by the elements as it became buried in the mud where he had discarded it.

Dean didn't reach for the journal but Sam didn't hesitate, greedily grabbed it, latched onto the hope that moments ago hadn't existed.

Relieved of his burden, Chuck shuffled on his feet, couldn't tell if Dean hated him for sticking his nose into his personal business. '_Like that's new. I've written his life story. Revealed his darkest fears and deepest hurts to __strangers around the world_.' He had made a living off of exploiting the man's 'personal business.' But this action, retrieving the journal from the mud, cleaning it off, putting it somewhere safe, that had been different, had been a gesture of protection, not exploitation. "I never read it…didn't even open it up. I just thought…..one day you might want it again."

And for Dean, the journal was about more than discovering a cure for his current predicament, was about memories, good memories and bad, about his Dad…and his Mom. About his family…and his childhood. About Sam…and about him. About _them_…traveling the states, pouring over the journal, trusting it even as he and Sam learned to trust each other all over again. Dean raised a weak, trembling hand and pointed it at Chuck, "Chuck…you get me, man."

Sam chuckled at Dean's praise and acceptance of his earlier insight about Chuck.

Chuck, however, was simply confused. "Is that…good or…"

"It's good, it's very good," Sam assured, even as he was hungrily flipping through the journal.

"Thanks, Chuck," Dean earnestly expressed. Even if the miracle cure wasn't in the pages of his Dad's journal, he was glad it wasn't lost. Now, if he didn't make it, at least Sam would have the journal, would have the story of their family, would have something to remember them all by.

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**TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	31. Chapter 31: Heirlooms

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 31: Heirlooms

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Dean had almost managed to doze off into a land of muted pain when Sam stood up so fast he knocked over the chair. Then his brother was pointing excitedly to the page in the journal. "Komodo dragon," he announced like his audience would applaud him out of the gate for that. Getting no reaction from his friends, he patiently read from his Dad's journal, "Is an Indonesian lizard , venomous saliva, attacks feet then goes for the stomach, creates shock and decreasing blood clotting." Looking up he prefaced, "Now here's the part National Geographic didn't know," before he scanned the journal then ended up paraphrasing. "There's a creature in European myths called a Basilisk, which is a _lizard_ that could kill with his stare, had red eyes and could poison not just through skin to skin contact but through inorganic things. Like if a soldier struck it with a sword…the Basilisk's poison would travel _through_ the sword and infect his attacker. The Basilisk Dad killed looked like a Komodo dragon."

"So some of the Komodo dragons are Basilisks," Cas deduced, "like what you killed today," he directed to Dean.

Dean weakly nodded his head in agreement, hoarsely joked, "Hear that Sammy, I slayed a dragon.._and_ a Basi…whatever. Two for the price of one,"

"Yeah, you're amazing," Sam distractedly agreed as he intently flipped pages. "Dad doesn't…" He swallowed, didn't want this to be true, for their Dad to fail Dean too. "I don't…." Eyes darting to Dean's, he revealed, "He doesn't mention an antidote …or a spell to get rid the venom." Hated seeing the grim acceptance in his brother's eyes, which had him briskly turning back the pages in the journal, rereading the info his father had gathered. "They believed a rooster could kill a Basilisk…and a weasel could defeat it in battle."

"I knew I shoulda instituted a cock fighting on Friday nights," Dean quirked.

But Cas ignored Dean's attempt at levity, was too busy trying to save the funny man's life. "Roosters and weasels…not really common place around here."

"Maybe we're taking things too literally," Sam suggested, adopting his scholarly tone Dean kinda loved but would never confess to his brother. "A rooster is sacred, was offered as a sacrifice in religious ceremonies and weasels, in some cultures, were considered a bad omen, some believing that crossing their path meant a speedy death."

Dean muttered, "Think I'm already on track for the speedy death," earning him exasperated glares from not only Sam but Cas and Chuck too.

"You wanna add something helpful here?" Sam shot to Dean, hated when Dean gave up on himself especially since Sam knew, if the tables were turned, Dean would never ever give up on saving him. _'Well, until you broke his heart by betraying him then walking out on him and he thought you said the 'big yes'_.'

"What, you think running a rooster feather over me will be the cure all?"

Jerked out of his dark memories of his past failures by his brother's skepticism, Sam formulated, "So we mix it with sage and …I don't know, holy water." He didn't care how unorthodox he had to get, would use a rubber chicken in the spell if it healed Dean.

Guardedly, Cas pointed out the bad news, "Holy water we can make but the sage and the rooster feather we don't have."

Sam paced away, put his hands on his hips in his classic concentration stance then he abruptly spun around, his eyes finding Dean's. "This camp has a lake nearby, right?" Didn't wait for Dean to answer before he smiled, recalled Dean's comments about the lake. "You said the fishing's good so you have tackles around here."

Chuck provided Sam his answer. "Yes, we have rods and tackle but I don't know what that has to do with anything."

Seeing by Dean's proud expression that his brother understood his logic, Sam held back his desire to jump to the next step, instead he patiently turned to Cas and Chuck to explain. "Some people use feathers, _rooster feathers_ in their fishing tackles."

Chuck smiled for the first time since entering Dean's cabin that day. "I'll go find the tackle, won't come back until I have a feather in hand." Then he was out the door as quickly as he had entered it minutes ago.

Sam stalked to the shelves lining the one wall of the cabin, grabbed a bowl and filled it with water then sat it on the table, directed at Cas, "I don't have a crucifix and my Latin's rusty…can you…with the angel juice you have left…"

"I think I have enough residual mojo to make holy water." Then without further prompting Cas started to speak in Latin as he emerged his hands into the bowl of water.

Sam came to the bed and crouched down to be eye level with his brother, fought back the urge to check his brother's temperature because Dean was looking paler by the minute. Pitched his tone gentle and without accusation as he asked, "I know you threw the herbs out but have you seen sage anywhere in the camp, in the nearby towns, forests?"

"Wrong soil around here for that," Dean gave in answer, wanted to tell Sam that it was ok if things didn't work out this time. That Sam had saved him when he really needed it, had come here and prevented him from being a worse monster than the one they let out of the Cage. Slipping his hand out from under the blanket, Dean latched onto his brother's jacket. "Sam…it's Ok." Saw Sam's brows crease in confusion. "You saved me when I really needed saving. ..even when I didn't deserve it."

"No, Dean. No!" Sam lowly protested, hand almost painfully curling around his brother's that held onto his jacket. "You're not giving up. We can cure you."

Dean continued as if Sam hadn't spoken. "I was losing myself without you, Sam. Cas…he tried to keep me off the ledge but …he's only an angel, right?" he said with dark humor. "I was just pulling him down with me and he was gonna go willingly, stupid idjit," his eyes slipping affectionately to the ex-angel busy chanting away in Latin. Then Dean's eyes returned to his brother's protesting gaze. "Even in the middle of this whole 'the world's ending' crap…the past couple of months…they were good, Sam. Like….really …really good."

But Sam's lips were pressed together and his jaw jumped and when he did speak it was low and bitter, "Dean, the last couple months you nearly died from two gunshot wounds, were almost murdered by an distraught member of your camp, spent weeks painfully recuperating, then I almost gutted you with a piece of glass because I was out of my head, I killed one of your friends because he got infected and now you're poisoned and in more pain than you'd ever tell me about."

Dean gave one of his trademark cocky smirks but there was a depth of emotion in his eyes, "Sounds pretty low-key for our lives." But at his brother's almost tangible hurt at his deflection, he huskily declared the best part of the past months, "You were here, Sam. The rest of it…didn't matter. I got you back…you came back to me and ….I know I didn't deserve that but I'm grateful, Sammy."

"Stop talking like you're dying," Sam brokenly demanded before he forced himself to joke, "like you're penning your own epilogue. We know what you killed, we have a plan how to stop the venom, we're saving you, Dean," he vowed in that ever-so-determined little brother tone. And before Dean could say what Sam knew his brother was thinking, that Dean would forgive him if he didn't, he pressed on with his whole saving-his-brother's- life-and-nothing-would-stop-him plan. "Dean, when you got rid of the herbs, did you burn them or just…." _'Discard them and walk away, like you seemingly did with the Impala._'

Embarrassed by his past actions born out of despair, Dean mumbled, "I didn't burn them."

Patiently, Sam selected his words carefully to draw out the answer from his brother. "Ok then if you didn't burn them…did you throw them out here or somewhere else." Because he'd drive hours and rummage through a dumpster or scour a ten mile ditch along some highway if he had to.

"Impala," Dean quietly said seemingly off topic. But Sam's eyes went wide at the one word. It was the first time his brother had mentioned the car he once treasured. "On the ground by the Impala's trunk but it's a lost cause, it'll be all rotted away," he predicted. '_Like I'm probably a lost cause.'_

Giving Dean's hand a squeeze before settling it back on to the bed, Sam said, "Ok, I'll…I"ll be back….just hang on." And it was hard, getting up, leaving his brother's side, walking for the door. As he left the cabin, he heard Dean tell Cas to show him the spot. '_Yeah, like I've missed the fact that the worldly possession my brother loves the most is sitting in the middle of a sea of weeds, abandoned, forgotten, debased_.' Still remembered entering the camp for the first time, seeing the Impala, forsaken as she was, and thinking all truly was lost, not only for the world but for him and Dean, because the Impala had always been their unspoken beacon of hope, was a tangible tie to their parents, was the embodiment of their familial bond. And Dean had thrown it away.

All his time in camp, Sam hadn't gone near the car, had shied away from coming face to face with the irrefutable proof of how badly Dean had been broken, that he had broken him. Now to save Dean he had to conquer the last holdout tendrils of his guilt. Inhaling, he stalked past his ten yard marker and kept going, didn't stop or slow down until he was standing at the rear of the Impala. He was hit all over again that Dean didn't just park the Impala for practicality sake, because she was a gas hog. Dean had abandoned her…with spite. Had left the doors open…the trunk lid up, had gotten out, emptied the things in the trunk onto the ground and walked away, didn't look back. '_Like I did with him in that rest area, said I didn't trust myself anymore to hunt, that we should split up and then I walked away_.'

He almost startled when Cas came to his side. Looked to the ex-angel and saw Cas' eyes weren't on him, were on the ground under their feet, like he too was trapped in memories he didn't make a habit of replaying.

Dropping to his knees at the Impala's back fender, Sam gingerly shifted though the archaeological remains of the other things Dean once treasured. Rabbit's foot, rotten wooden box with an old ID and a cat bone inside, brittle pieces of paper, then there were the few twigs of moldy herbs that weren't sage that crumbled and floated away on the light breeze with his merest touch.

Sam sent his hands scratching under the surface dirt, desperate to uncover some small twig of sage, some merciful solution. But there was nothing useful there, had all faded away, died. "No," he growled in denial and panic, throwing the wooden box against a tree as he stood up. Then he leaned into the open trunk, had to turn his head away as the rank odor of mildew and mold assailed him. Bracing himself, he returned to his task, fingers frantically searching the secret compartment in the trunk for anything left behind, anything helpful, anything he could salvage. But there was nothing there, Dean was all too thorough with his cleansing ritual, effectively destroyed all the vestiges of his hunting life. '_And of me._'

Heartbroken, Sam couldn't believe this was it, that there wasn't something there he could use, that after all the times the things in this very trunk had saved their lives, it was coming up empty, literally and figuratively, this time. Using his bare hands, he savagely ripped up the carpet on the real trunk, unmindful that a sharp edge of the metal underneath the padding cut his hand, that, not for the first time, his blood was dripping into the trunk.

"Sam.." Cas quietly beckoned in sympathy, as heart sick as Sam at their lack of discovery.

"No," Sam ferociously denied, knew Cas wanted him to give up, to give up on Dean. And that…he couldn't do. "There's got to be something here! Something!" Pulling out the carpet, he tossed it to the ground, unknowingly reminiscent of Dean's actions a year ago.

Practically crawling into the trunk, Sam used his long arms to reach to the edge of the secret compartment where it butted up to the back seats…felt something brush his finger. Eyes searching through the poor lighting, he saw that something was caught in the edge of the car's metal frame. With utmost care, he extracted it and backed out of the trunk, found that what he had cradled in his hand was a single twig of real, honest to goodness, not moldy but perfectly dried sage.

Smiling widely at Cas, Sam then gave a loving, reverent pat to the Impala and a heartfelt "Thank you." Couldn't even find it in himself to ridicule the fact that he was not only talking to a car but thanking it. Then he and Cas were stalking to Dean's cabin to put the Impala's contribution to good use.

"Your baby still loves you…" Sam announced to Dean as he reentered the room. Squatting down to show his prize to his brother, he meaningfully detailed, "Found it in the Impala."

When Dean lovingly let out a curse of shock, Sam wasn't sure if it was intended for him, for the Impala or both. He accepted it for both their accounts. Didn't get to respond before Chuck returned and, true to his word, he hadn't come back empty handed, was carrying a small assortment of tackles like they were made of unstable C-4 instead of a bird downs.

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It wasn't the most liberal Sam had ever been with a spell and mojo concoction but it was pretty close. Though he had told Cas his Latin was rusty, Sam didn't blunder on a single pronunciation as he recited a cleansing ritual as he mixed the holy water, rooster feathers and sage together, threw in a silent prayer for good measure. Then, bowl in hand, he went to his brother, who was openly shuddering and curled harder into his fetal position than Sam thought possible without snapping vertebra, all in an attempt to manage the agony he was in.

Taking a seat on the bed, he softly asked, his eyes holding Dean's, "You ready to do this?"

Dean gave a jerky nod of his head, didn't fight it when Sam slid a hand beneath his head and helped him choked down the wooly liquid. "If I start crowing…. it's your fault," Dean rasped out, falling back to his standard routine of false bravado when he was his most vulnerable.

"I can live with that," Sam instantly responded with sincerity. '_With you crowing or snoring or grumbling at me for taking care of you, as long as you stick around, Dean.' _He rested his hand on Dean's shoulder as they waited to find if the spell and mojo worked, hoped it wasn't his imagination that Dean's shuddering was decreasing. Slipping his hand to his brother's forehead, he thought the fierce heat that had poured off Dean the past hours was toning down to tepid. Bending over to look into Dean's face, he prodded, "Feeling any better?"

Tentatively, Dean raised his hand, watched as the trembling slowed down then disappeared, leaving his hand rock steady. Eyes flying to Sam's, he exhaled in relief, "Pain's fading too," as he straightened from his fetal position and eased back onto the mattress.

Feeling slightly lightheaded with relief, Sam shuffled off the bed and sank heavily into the chair by his brother's side. Bending over, he put his head in his hands, allowed himself to have a mini-breakdown. Moments later, when he lifted his head, his hair was all disarray and his eyes, when they met Dean's, were red rimmed. "Tell me you won't do this again, won't hunt something or…..or risk your life like you think you don't matter to me. Please, Dean…just don't. Please."

Dean wanted to say it had just been a hunt, was a risk he had taken a thousand times before, at his father's insistence, alone and later at Sam's side. It was who they were, what they did. '_What we __used__ to do_,' Dean silently amended, because he had disowned his family business out of heartbreak, he could surely do it this time for love. "'Kay," he quietly vowed, saw by Sam's startled but still fearful expression that he had to do it proper. "No more hunting. Promise."

Sam wiped away a tear that had broken free and nodded his head. He and Dean didn't need words between them, they never did when it came to the important stuff.

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As the brothers walked side by side through the outskirts of the camp that offered them a landscape of forest and a meadow overrun by wild flowers, it felt just like old times, them picking picturesque places to have their tough talks. "Tell me why? Why'd you hunt this thing?" Sam ardently questioned in genuine need of an answer. "And don't say because it needed put down."

Sam's condition shortcutted the smart aleck reply Dean had all ready to go. Sighing, he stopped and Sam halted at his side, knew that he owed Sam a real answer. "Guess I wanted to kill something that actually _deserved_ to die. Something evil through and through not evil because of some demonic virus." '_Something I didn't have to feel __guilty__ for killing, something that didn't used to be someone that I cared about, swore to protect.' _Knew that he didn't have to verbalize the rest, that Sam understood even before his brother said that out loud.

"I get that," Sam quietly but firmly declared, knew all that Dean wasn't saying.

Dean hoarsely acknowledged, "I know you do." Because he and Sam, they weren't so different, may make different choices, seek separate routes to the same destination but they had the same pain, knew the same guilt, were broken in the same places.

When Sam started moving, Dean did too, knew it wasn't coincidence that they ended up by the Impala when Sam got in the deserted vehicle's passenger side. Sam recognized that Dean stood back, seemed reluctant to breach the Impala's personal space, like his brother dreaded coming face to face with a jilted ex-lover. "Come on, for old time sake," Sam beckoned, eyes holding Dean's, begging Dean to do it for him.

Like always, Dean crumbled to his little brother's wishes and sank into the Impala's driver's seat, felt a rush of memories wash over him at the so very familiar surroundings.

Eyes on his brother and not the Impala, Sam spoke with a fond lilt to his tone, "When I dreamed and they were good ones…a lot of them were of us…in here."

Dean hesitated a moment before he reverently reached out, touched the keys still dangling in the ignition. Then he reached up, wrapped his hands around the leather steering wheel. "She was our home for most of my life," his voice far away, lost in the past.

"Mine too," Sam admitted, for once not angry about that fact but glad. Had come to see that his traveling home was enviable to so many other people's home lives, that conforming to what was the accepted recipe for happiness and stability, it wasn't a guarantee for either. Dean's voice, the thing he associated most with the car and the happiness and security it offered, broke Sam out of his reverie.

"So to recap, I trashed our heritage and our home. Any other memories or heirlooms you want tarnished, I'm your guy," Dean sardonically quipped, wished he could take back his actions, that someone could restore the Impala, undo his neglect.

Sam smirked, conceded in a teasing tone, "Yeah, maybe I should take over as family historian because the Impala could use a good detailing." He ran his fingers over the dirt coated dashboard. "Maybe Chuck has some leather cleaner in his supply closet."

That got a snort from Dean. "Yeah because it doesn't matter I've scavenged her for parts. All she needs is a clean interior and she'll be good as new, right?" a tinge of self-hatred in his words.

"Her engine wasn't her best feature," Sam declared, earning him his brother's surprised focus.

"That right? It's kinda the _point_ of a car, Sam," but there wasn't annoyance in Dean's tone, just sad regret.

"It always felt more like our living room than our car to me," Sam fondly explained.

"There's no tv," Dean deadpanned.

But Sam only smiled at Dean's stipulation. "Who needs TV when you have sparkling conversation from yours truly," pointing cockily to himself.

"I miss tv _really_ bad now," Dean drawled, chuckled at Sam's make believe affronted expression.

"Dude, shut up," Sam zinged back. "Remember the time I got my little soldier figure stuck in the ashtray."

"It's still there!" Dean crowed back, upset for the Impala's sake. "And the crayons you let melt between the seat, if Dad ever found out about that, you would have been a dead ten year old."

"Dean, I wasn't playing with crayons at _ten years old_," Sam protested, knew he had played right into Dean's hands when his brother's eyes twinkled mischievously. He gave a short laugh then said with utter certainty, "And besides, you woulda protected me. You always do."

"Yeah, because I'm stupid," Dean grumbled but would not undo a single time that Sam's statement was true. Just wished there had been more of them, more things that he had been able to protect Sam from. '_Like me and my choices.'_

But Sam's expression held only love as he jeered, "You are stupid, yeah, noarguments here." Laughed at Dean's glare and then Dean's laughter joined his own.

And it felt so right that the Impala once again carried the lilting sound of laughter like it had since John Winchester took the advice of a cool older guy sporting a leather jacket to buy her instead of the VW van he promised Mary he would. A good decision then and a good decision now. Because the guy had been right, she did last the years ahead of her, bravely bore the damage inflicted on her and still managed to create a haven for the family that loved her almost as much as she loved them.

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** TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	32. Chapter 32: Pinned Down

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

Author's note: Every time I think you guys are losing interest and I should just ditch the rest of the chapters and skip to the end I get some lovely reviews and get encouraged all over again. So it's totally my wonderful reviewers fault that this story is going on for a few more chapters…which is my way of saying….YOU GUYS ARE AWESOME! Thanks so much for your kindness and enthusiasm no matter how long I'm dragging this story out.

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Chapter 32: Pinned Down

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It's the first entire camp meeting Sam's been to and it's a little awe-inspiring to see his brother address the populace.

"So we got croat movement in Sommerset, which yeah, is sixty miles away but we don't want them heading toward us and stumbling on our camp," Dean informs his community. "So we're gonna do some recon, see what their numbers are and if need be, take them out or herd them west. I'll lead the two man recon team into town and Sam and a five man team will set up mortar lines to deter any migration our way."

"_Sam_? The _newbie_ ….leading the defense team?" Althouse sneers, taking a cool draw on his cigarette as all eyes swivel to him. He feels a sense of satisfaction at being the center of attention, in a good way this time, not as an object of ridicule. Had taken crap from the whole camp even weeks after the bruises from Cas' fists had faded away over the sniper FUBAR mission. But now, the looks he's getting are in admiration for him having the guts to say what everyone else was thinking.

Dean's jaw jumps in agitation and his killer glare pins the camp's resident upstart, as he pointedly derides, "_Sam_ ….who knows a lot more about killing fuglies and setting up kill zones than you know about wiping your own butt."

Under his breath Althouse mumbles, "Friggin' Dean Winchester fan club around here," which earns a few snickers from some of those close enough to hear him.

Stalking for Althouse, Dean barely notes how everyone gets out of his way, makes a path for him to Althouse like the parting of the Red Sea. Coming to a halt when he's practically nose to nose with Althouse, Dean darkly taunts, "Say that again."

Without the sense God gave a goat, Althouse doesn't drop his eyes, stands there and challengingly meets Dean's burning gaze. "Just this is nepotism in action. You got your guard dogs ready to sacrifice all of us to save _you_." Jerks his head to Cas across the room. "Cas didn't think twice about what it would cost Haltman and Dell to stay with you. All your BFF knew was he wanted to protect you. Now we're supposed to put our lives in the hands of your friggin' brother, who none of us know from Jack. But it doesn't take a rocket scientist to know he'd send every single one of us to our deaths to save you."

Furious at Althouse's slur to Sam's honor, Dean sweeps a leg out, easily takes Althouse legs from under him, sending the other man crashing to the floor.

And Dean is instantly there, pressing his forearm against Althouse's larynx. "You don't know anything about my brother, don't pretend that you do," he menacingly growls into his subordinate's face.

Dean almost shoves the person away who dares to grab his shoulder before he realizes it's Sam attempting to play referee.

"Hey, Hey, Dean. It's Ok."

Though he allows Sam to haul him off Althouse, he's not happy about it.

Trying to catch Dean's gaze, Sam states, "I don't need to go on this mission," hoping to keep the peace.

"I want you on it," Dean sharply decrees, loud enough for the entire congregation to hear, to accept that he's made his decision and that should be the end of it. But his angry gaze shoots to Zimmer as the other man, not so surprisingly, sides with Althouse.

"It's just….if anyone has seniority, it'd be Cas," Zimmer interjects but he does it warily, remembers the beat down he got from Cas and nearly from Sam the last time he questioned Dean's authority.

"You think this is a democracy?!" Dean thunders. "I say who goes on a mission and who leads it."

Latching onto Dean's arm, Sam quietly requests to his brother, "Dean, can we talk. Cas too," his eyes going to the ex-angel who had hastily made his way through the crowd and is right there, ready to jump in if Dean needs him.

Ripping his arm out of Sam's hold, Dean stomps through the crowd, slams out the door, knows this is such a stupid thing to do because Sam will try and talk him down, mold him into some saint, when he wasn't that, couldn't lead and be a saint at the same time. So as Sam comes through the door, he snaps, "You should have stayed out of that!"

Sam's jaw jumps and he seems on the verge of exploding before he does that nervous run-his-hand- through-his-hair thing. Then he employs his patient tone with his volatile brother. "Dean, I get they don't know me and don't trust me."

"So. They should trust my decisions," Dean belligerently fires back.

Trying to be the voice of reason, Sam softened his tone, "Just let Cas lead the other team and I'll stay back here."

Dean seems on the verge of shutting him down, turns his back on him. But when he noisily exhales and turns around, it's not Sam he looks to but Cas with a silent question.

"You know I'm not leading the other team unless Sam goes with you," Cas states like Dean should know better to ever think otherwise.

And that is as Dean expected. '_Friggin' Cas and his bodyguard mentality_.' But instead of being angry at Cas, who apparently wasn't going to change, he derisively tells Sam, "Fine, then you stay here. Knit a sweater or something _useful_."

Then Dean reenters the cabin with as much gusto as he left it, begins barking out orders. "Cas and I are the recon team. Franklin, you lead the defensive team with Althouse, his boy Friday, Zimmer, Pitt and Risa."

"What?! I should lead…" Althouse grumbles but fearfully backs up when Dean approaches.

"And I should let the friggin' croats have your stupid behind," Dean hostilely growls before he raises his voice so he's heard throughout the building, his eyes scanning the group. "Anyone else want to put in their two cents?! Have a hankering to change places with me tomorrow, wanna face off with a platoon of Croats and be outnumbered thirty to one in a hot zone?"

At the dead silence, Dean grouses, "Then class dismissed." He shoulder checks Sam as his brother's stepping back into the building as he stalks out of it.

When the rest of the camp starts filing out the door, Sam pulls Cas aside. "All your meetings go this crappy or just the ones since I've gotten here?" Hopes that his brother hasn't had to deal with this bullcrap ego stuff the entire time.

Lowly, so no passerbyers hear, Cas drawls, "This is mostly how they end up. But as far as outcomes, this one's pretty tame."

"What, because Dean didn't kill someone?" Sam darkly jokes.

But Cas' expression is serious when he makes his comeback. "No, couple of times Dean got _royally_ pissed at the bickering and ordered a lock down. Thought it was a _good idea_ to go out on a mission by himself."

Sam's eyebrow rose in alarm at even the thought of that. He knew better than anyone what it was like to be out there with no one to watch your back. But lucky for him, he couldn't get infected…unlike Dean. "Alone…like without you?"

Cas fights to not snark back, '_Yeah, __alone__…like party of one'_ but can tell Sam isn't in the mood for a show of attitude, never was when it came to his brother being at risk. "Yup."

Sam jaw clenches and he shakes his head in frustration, grits out, "How'd that work out?" because he knows his brother's luck.

Cas can't help but smirk as he replies, "Remember Chuck having his vision, crossing states to save Dean's butt?"

At that Sam, smirks too, now that he knows the ending to Cas' story. "So it went that well."

"Now you see what I mean. This meeting…was awesome. No one's bleeding and Dean's even letting me watch his back on the mission. Might be our best meeting yet."

'_Dean's letting you watch his back..not me,_' Sam jealousy grumbles to himself, thought he was over comparing his relationship with Dean versus Cas'. But his hurt feelings didn't stop him from making a request of Cas. "I know Dean can take care of himself…" At Cas' exaggerated skeptical look, Sam sighs knowingly, "Ok, sometimes he sucks at it. So…"

"Yes," Cas matter-of-factly states, causing Sam to shift on his feet in confusion.

"Yes, what?"

"I'll bring him back in one piece. But you do know I'm not his first choice for wingman, right?" Cas poses, knows that he came in a long second to Sam, always would and that was ok. He knew the unequivocal honor it was to be second string on Dean's family tree.

Instead of answering, Sam claps him on the back and heads out the door. So the ex-angel stands there and wonders which Winchester is more delusional when it comes to realizing what they truly mean to each other. Then he sneers to himself, "Yeah, like Althouse wasn't spot on pegging what you'd do for Dean, Sam too. Crap, when did I turn into them."

And it wasn't the worst fate he envisioned for himself…was actually one of the best.

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They are stuck for the night, are going absolutely nowhere, not unless they want to take a stroll through a mile of croats, shake their blood coated hands like politicians on their way to the quarantine fence. So yeah, they were left hiding in the bombed out house until the croats move on or sleep or hibernate, whatever the virus-possessed do to recharge. Course, without even moonlight to guide them, Dean knew moving even then might not be an option.

So Dean sinks down beside Cas, both now leaning against a couch that's seen better days and whispers, "Hope you didn't have an orgy planned tonight 'cause we're not going anywhere."

"No, no romantic plans," Cas admits but he's looking around, nervous like he rarely is.

"Something's got you freaked."

Eyes staring into the dark recesses of the house and not his friend, Cas declares, "If we don't come home tonight, he'll come looking" like he's said something profound.

"Who? Franklin?" Dean scoffs. "He knows he's got his own job to do and I'll kick him into next week if he screws it up."

Cas looks at Dean for the first time, a little astonished Dean's not getting it yet. "Not Franklin. Sam."

"Wrong. Sam knows some jobs take the time they take." And that was an unwritten Winchester rule: Don't freak out until it was time to freak out.

"You really believe that? That he'll just write it off that you don't come home tonight," Cas poses with a hint of scorn, his eyes searching Dean's.

"I don't have a friggin' curfew, Cas!" Dean explodes, angry at Cas's attitude and that everyone thought he and Sam were joined at the hip.

Dean's heated denial had Cas twisting to face his friend and blurting out, "No, what you have is a brother who was without you for five crappy years, never knowing if you were alive or dead. "

Dean practically rolls his eyes. "Not you too with the _Sam's-super-attached-to-you_ speech. Chuck already tried to sell me that steaming pile of crap about Sam being clingy and I wasn't buying it then and I'm not buying it now. It was _Sam_ who vetoed coming on this mission, who didn't put up one protest that it was just gonna be you and me doing the reconnaissance in a croat hot zone."

Without warning, Cas claps his hand over Dean's mouth, silencing his friend a moment before Dean hears the crunch of footsteps outside the house. When the croats meander down the street, it's Cas who breaks the silence.

"Sam didn't want to put you in bad standings with your men, Dean. That's why he passed on the mission, stayed back in camp. And as for him being "super attached to you", I think you're not that stupid." As the anger flares in Dean's eyes, Cas points out, "Dean, he just got you back, was granted your forgiveness, which he thought was more than he could ever hope for. And, maybe you didn't notice, he didn't handle it well when you almost _died_ two weeks ago from your dragon slayer adventure. But in case you took too many blows to the head in your lifetime to be able to make sound leaps of logic…he loves you as much as you love him." When Dean opens his mouth to further protest, Cas speaks, not unkindly, over his objections. "How would **you** feel about Sam not coming home all night …while he's out in rabid enemy territory."

"Oh crap," Dean curses as it hits him how Sam will react to his MIA status, how he would if the roles were reversed. How he felt about the years Sam had been out there all alone. '_Down. Right. Terrified_.'

"Yeah, oh crap. My sentiments exactly," Cas mockingly drawls, hopes that Chuck and Risa take his advice seriously about not standing in Sam's way if he gets that look in his eyes. A look Cas hadn't heeded when he first got to know Sam and, consequently, almost got himself smited by a mere human with some inhuman powers. Since then, Cas had come to have a healthy fear of the '_I'm going to save my brother and you better not get in my way'_ look that the Winchesters were infamous for.

Dean doesn't have the chance to say more because suddenly there is yelling outside. It seems like some croats have decided to have a friggin' block party….right under the window of the house he and Cas are squatting in.

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Breathing too heavy could be a momentous mistake, shifting his leg that's cramping like a mother, that could bring a crap load of croats down on top of them. Any normal activity has to be weighed, has to be worth the risk, not only of his life but Cas' too.

Dean hopes Franklin's team got back to camp safe and sound. Followed protocol and didn't consider a search and rescue for him and Cas. Survival, that was job one. Well, survival, and if you couldn't get that right, then take as many croats down with you as you could.

But right now, it isn't at that stage. Not yet.

And Dean finds he has something burning down deep inside him, something that he thought had died in him a long time ago: _hope_. And it's Sam's friggin' fault. Guy could always turn him into a Pollyanna. And since his brother's miraculous arrival at camp, unburdened with the devil inside, Dean had had to fight to not fall back into old habits of believing that he and Sam could get through anything.

'_But this isn't just anything,_' he reminds himself. It was the apocalypse, was the croat invasion to end all invasions, was the end of their world as they knew it. And cold, unrelenting, _determination_ had kept him alive so far, not hope. Certainly not a belief in brotherhood…family.

But then Cas moves beside him, reminds him he's not alone, hasn't been all the years Sam was gone. Cas was there. '_Is still here with me …and is handing me a friggn' water bottle like he thinks I overdid my Yoga workout.' _With a roll of his eyes at the mothering, Dean snatches the bottle from Cas but relishes the water as it quenches the thirst that been gnawing at him for the past hour.

As he hands the water bottle back to his friend, their eyes meet and yeah, they're in it deep, both know things could go either way at any second. But they have absolutely no doubt that the other will have their back. And that's all they need to keep the fear at bay, to have the courage to stay where they are, shoulder to shoulder in a house with croats congregating only a few feet away.

It's then that Dean knows he has to amend his prior boast. What kept him alive was so a belief in brotherhood …it just wasn't his with Sam. Cas had been there, through all of it. Had not been somewhere safe with the angels but in the blood and guts and despair _with him_.

So maybe his hope hadn't gone out entirely…but it had taken Sam's presence to rejuvenate it, to bring it to the surface. And right now, that hope had him believing that he and Cas would be ok, would make it out of this. Could hunker down here for the night and slip away in the morning.

No, the real trick was gonna be getting back to camp _before_ Sam did his hero routine, before his brother came searching for him. Because, darn it, Cas was right. If the roles were reversed, there was no way Dean would uphold his own rule of no search and rescue missions for anyone MIA.

'_I'm the worst hypocrite,_'' Dean self-loathingly admits, but then again, when it came to Sam..and heck, even Cas, there wasn't a single rule he wouldn't break to save them. '_And Sam…he always tended to take up my worst habits.' _

Which all meant one thing: Sam was coming for him.

And Dean's not sure who he feels more sorry for: himself for the chewing out Sam'll unleash on him..or for any croats who are stupid enough to get in Sam's way when he's into full out big brother protector mode.

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**TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day

Cheryl W.


	33. Chapter 33: Late Patrol

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 33: Late Patrol

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Dean's patrol was late. And yeah, Sam knew Dean would say it couldn't be late since nothing ran on a schedule, not since the Croatoan virus turned their world into blood and violence and fear. But Dean did run things on a schedule, the new world order be hanged. "And he's friggin' late."

Suddenly Sam hated that he let Dean leave without him, that he let Althouse's petty complaining about seniority sway him into not taking the other team out. Of letting Dean and Cas go out there without any back up. Because the second team, they had been back an hour now, didn't even know where Cas and Dean were in the town, had just followed Dean's orders to the T and obediently scampered back to camp.

'_Without my brother_,' Sam condemned, bitterly wondered if any of them could even think on their own. Had any friggin' loyalty. To Dean or to each other. Was starting to understand that was why Dean wanted him to head up the second team, to know the job was getting done, that there was someone in the team who would be responsible for the safe return of the rest of them, to play shepherd.

Trouble with that plan was… Althouse had had it right. Sam hadn't come to Camp Chitiqua to be a camp counselor, had come there for his brother. And since he'd been granted a home there with Dean, he hadn't been interested in trying to redeem his soul by keeping the people in the little encampment alive. For his sins, he'd have to personally save 90% of the world's remaining population to put a dent in his atonement column. So that goal…it wasn't even on the table.

And honestly, as far as Sam was concerned, the survivors could fend for themselves. He didn't get back with Dean, have Dean forgive him, just to risk losing his brother because Dean thought he should save some ungrateful idiots. Ok, so not Cas…or Chuck.

Yeah, sure, he hadn't said "The Big Yes", as Dean liked to call it, but he had changed. Had had enough time on his own, years of thinking Dean hated him, of wondering if his brother was even alive, to know just what he would do to not ever be sentenced to that version of hell again.

_Anything_.

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Strapping on his gun, shrugging into his coat and grabbing the keys to the truck, Sam headed out the door, almost toppled Chuck down the stairs as the ex-prophet started to go up them. Causing them both to stop, eye each other up.

"Ah….where you going, Sam?" Chuck asked, the feeling in the pit of his stomach almost as prophetic as one of his dreams.

"To find Dean," Sam said, resolute and certain.

Then, Sam, with his 6 foot 4 inch stature, managed to shuffle by him on the narrow steps with unexpected agility. Turning, coming down the stairs and trailing behind Sam, who was stalking purposefully for the weapon shed, Chuck stammered, "But Dean's out on a mission."

"And he hasn't come back yet," Sam snapped but he heard another voice in his head, saying something terrifyingly familiar. '_Dad's been on a hunting trip and hasn't been home for a few days._' Sure, when Dean asked for his help nine years ago, their Dad wasn't dead. '_Was just neck deep in the worst evil we knew …at the time_,' Sam unhelpfully corrected himself.

Sam grabbed two hand guns, a rifle and snagged a go bag from a peg on the shed wall and started to scrupulously check its contents. Meanwhile, Chuck hovered at his back. "But we don't…we're not….we don't…" But he petered out, didn't want to say what they did when someone didn't come back, what Dean _trained_ them to do. Couldn't say that to Sam.

Sensing Chuck's hesitation to spit it out, that the ex-prophet might be harboring info he needed to know, Sam swung around, pinned Chuck with an unrelenting inspection. "You don't what?" his voice sharp, demanding.

Swallowing, Chuck cleared his throat, wished he had minded his own business. "We don't…do the whole search and rescue." When Sam's eyebrows climbed into his hairline in disapproval, Chuck ratted out Dean. "Dean, it's Dean's mandate…not mine. He says if someone doesn't come back, we don't go looking, know what we'll find."

"And what's that," Sam asked with quiet menace.

Shuffling from one foot to another, Chuck remembered too late Cas' advice before he left on this patrol.

"_You don't have an archangel ready to swoop in to save you anymore, so don't ever stand between Sam and Dean, or Sam protecting Dean, or Dean protecting Sam. Because there are still worst things to fear than a croat attack_."

Maybe the angel was the one with the visions now, had somehow seen this coming. Or maybe it was just the fact that it was the first time Dean was leaving the camp without Sam, and Cas thought Sam might go a little…stir crazy aka unhinged.

Chuck realized that he hadn't answered Sam's question when Sam reached out, didn't hit him but roughly latched onto his jacket, demanded again, "Because you'll find what?"

Knowing he had to say it, Chuck rushed out the explanation, "That it's too late to save them." Then he closed his eyes, expecting a blow. When his face wasn't plummeted by Sam's fist, he dared to open his eyes, saw Sam was frozen there, not anger on his features but raw fear. And Chuck found himself wanting to reassure Sam. "But I mean, it's early…the patrol…it could take longer than they thought. Normal stuff…." Didn't rattle off the possible list of "normal stuff" : croats killed them, they became croats, military mistook them for croats and killed them, their vehicles broke down and they're taking a midnight stroll in croat territory.

But Sam didn't need Chuck to verbalize the list, could manage to tally it all on his own, had been out there for years on his own, skulking in the shadows, running for his life, sometimes praying to die. Shoving Chuck away, he made short work of the distance to the truck, had the truck engine flaring to life and the tires tossing stones as he gunned the vehicle across the camp's thoroughfare and toward the gate, toward his brother, wherever he was at.

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It was painful to be so wired with adrenaline and yet forced to be immobile. Well, _almost_ immobile. In the patch of moonlight now eking through the house's filthy windows, Dean's fisted hand was illuminated…as was Cas's hand…palm down and making a point to cover Dean's "rock" gesture. Cas winked at his friend's scowl at having lost yet another round of rock, paper, scissors.

They were going for round forty one of the silent showdown when the boom of an explosion shook the foundation. Immediately coming up on their hunches, the two men readied themselves for battle, didn't know if the explosion was a croat tactic to rattle them or if some croats had just bought the farm. Either way, they would face what came next side by side.

Ears straining, they heard the croats outside the house reacting and it didn't seem that whatever was happening was something they knew about. With the single-mindedness of a hoard, they all started running toward the explosion, all seeking out fresh converts to bring up their monthly tally for the croat bean counters.

It just took a shared glance between Cas and Dean before they moved in synch. Keeping low and quiet, they circled the couch and crouched under the window, chanced a peek out the window only to discover the street was clear. That they had a clear path to hightail it out of the house, maybe even had good odds to dart thought the moonlit town back to their Jeep.

"Sam," they deduced at the same time because there wasn't another soul crazy enough to come into a croat hot zone, _at night_, on some hopeless rescue mission but Dean's brother. And then Dean and Cas were moving, bolting out the door and running for all they were worth through the deserted streets. Not looking back and certainly not wasting time to look ahead, were just pounding across the cracked pavement, jumping over discarded junk and dodging deserted cars.

Which was why Dean almost ran smack into the middle of a gang of croats.

Dean skidded on the pavement as he tried to halt his momentum before he collided with the lead woman croat, who used to be someone's grandma and now looked like the witch Hansel & Gretel ran into at the candy house. But as agile as he was, Dean couldn't do the impossible, couldn't go from Mach One to a dead stop, which was why his feet slid out from under him, turning his skid into a tumble.

Before Dean could decide if he should just shoot the S.O.B.s and risk calling more croats down on their heads by the noise, Cas was there, grabbing him by the arm, hauling him to his feet and pulling him backwards. He didn't release his grip on Dean's forearm as they belted back the way they had just come.

But another croat group was coming from another direction, cutting off their retreat. Then it was Dean grabbing Cas by the wrist, yanking him to the right and down an alleyway. Running full out down the alley side by side, they could practically feel the hoard breathing down their backs, closing in the distance. Without stopping his forward motion, Dean swung around, emptied a .45 round into a croat's face even as his bloody fingers nearly snagged onto Cas' jacket.

Dean almost startled when Cas let loose a shotgun blast of his own right by his ear. Then Cas was bodily pushing him, not through an open doorway but through a friggin' _closed door_. At the last minute, Dean turned so it was mostly his shoulder that took the impact. The door splintering open at his impact, they found themselves in a thoroughly looted apartment. Dodging through the debris, Dean used his shoulder, this time of his own free will, to bust through the back door, sending them stumbling out into an open street.

"Crap, which way?" Cas huffed beside him, his sense of direction lost after their zig zagging trek from the house.

"This way," Dean confidently said with a jerk of his head to the left and then they were full out running down the, thankfully, still deserted street. Lungs burning, they rounded another corner to find that their Jeep was still there, safely hidden under the camouflage of cardboard boxes and other trash. Not bothering to clear the car of its disguise or open doors, both men leaped into the Jeep's left side, Dean the driver's side and Cas into the rear seat.

Dean cranked on the engine and the Jeep surged forward even as he reached a hand out to rip the boxes off the windshield so he could actually see where he was going. Which turned out to be a collision course with Sam, who was standing point blank in the path of the Jeep.

Stomping on the brakes with everything he had, Dean couldn't draw in a breath, not until his brother was in the seat beside him, until he knew he didn't just thank Sam for the rescue by turning him into roadkill.

Seeing a male croat racing toward the Jeep and namely toward his brother, Sam commanded, "Down!"

Dean obeyed, felt the heat of his brother's bullet pass over his head even as a croat's hand grabbed his shirt for a mere moment before death disconnected the croat's motor skills and the hand slipped free.

"Go! Go ! Go!" Sam shouted as he saw more croats coming from a side street.

Not needing to be told twice let alone three times, Dean floored the Jeep, sending it flying by the croats before they could do more than grunt. Though there were a few more croat close calls, some dead ends and turn arounds, Dean more than proved that he was still the excellent wheelman Sam had always been in awe of, was capable of dodging attacking croats as easily as he did the stationary obstacles in their way.

None of them spoke until the town and it's croat residents were twenty miles in their rearview mirror.

Shooting a look to his brother, Dean lectured, "You know what you did was beyond stupid, right?"

But Sam was smiling, didn't have a repentant bone in his body for his actions that night. "I just thought…what would Dean do and did it."

At that, Cas let out a amused laugh from the back seat, had honestly missed being witness to the give and take between the brothers. Only smiled wider when Dean shot a "you shut up," over his shoulder at him.

Turning back to his brother, Dean drawled, "Do I want to know where the truck's at? Why you're not…. Oh, I don't know, driving it out of town?"

Sam squirmed a little in his seat, mumbled, "It kinda…blew up."

"Wait…what?! The croats got that close to you….they nearly …you had to….or they…"Dean stammered, not liking the mental pictures of Sam getting almost killed in his little hero routine. Killed trying to save him, no less.

"No…they didn't blow it up. I did," Sam confessed. But at Dean's incredulous look he elaborated, "I needed a distraction so I …torched it."

Eyes swiveling between the holed tarmac and his brother, Dean grilled, "You torched the truck? _Our _truck? Like…one of the few vehicles we have running!?"

"Hey, it worked. The explosion got all the croats running that way, gave you the opening to get back to the Jeep," Sam parried back, was actually pretty proud of his idea.

"And what, you just hung out on the streets waiting for a ride?! Sam, we might have been dead for all you knew!" And there Sam would have been, all alone in croat territory. '_Because of you. AGAIN_!' Dean guilty tacked on.

"I'd know," Sam solemnly challenged, at Dean's look of confusion he clarified, "I'd know if you were dead." Because that connection, that surety that he would know if he lost Dean had kept him sane, had kept him strong, had given him the fortitude to keep saying no instead of the "Big Yes".

But Sam's declaration only shamed Dean. Because his own "instincts" had been so wrong, he had been so sure that Sam was lost to him, not void of life but of the soul he loved best. '_So much for my gut instincts_.' Instead of letting Sam see his flush of guilt, he parried back a teasing taunt to Sam. "No, what you did was luck out."

"_Luck out_, I was brilliant!" Sam crowed. "Saved your butt. _Both_ of your butts," he said over his shoulder to Cas.

Cas didn't protest Sam's boast, instead leaned forward. Positioning himself between the brothers, he gave Sam's shoulder a squeeze. "Thanks, Sam. And, for the record, I kinda hated that trunk…it smelled like feet."

"And gym shorts," Sam added.

"I'm not familiar with gym shorts so I'll have to take your word on that," Cas amicably conceded.

Dean took his eyes off the road to shoot disbelieving looks to both of his passengers. "Tell me you don't understand that losing the truck isn't about losing the truck?!"

Not bothering to pretend ignorance, Sam unrepentantly professed, "Dean, you're alive. That's all I care about."

"You just proved their point for them," Dean exasperatedly bit out. At Cas' confused look, he bluntly stated, "Althouse. He said we're all about saving each other, that we'll risk their lives to save each other. Now Sam goes and breaks rule number three."

"You have rules…" Sam asked in amusement instead of contriteness.

Cas eagerly enlightened him. "Oh yeah, have about…twenty of them. But our fearless leader's really nitpicky about the first five."

"And let me guess, number three is no search and rescues," Sam quietly reasoned, made sure there wasn't a hint of accusation in his tone because he didn't have the right to judge. After all, he hadn't been there, hadn't been in charge of keeping a camp full of people alive…and uninfected. Of keeping the camp a secret. That had been all on Dean.

"Yes, no search and rescues!" Dean fired back, defensive of his past decisions even as he hated to think what Sam thought of them, of him. "I lost count how many people died while out on some hopeless rescue mission."

But Sam knew that was a lie. Dean didn't lose count. His brother knew exactly how many people he didn't save. "Hey, I get it, Dean. That you had to concentrate on saving the people you could. I'm not judging," he gently assured, knew any loss of lives would be an open wound for Dean.

"Good," Dean gruffly shot back but kept trading off staring at the road and his brother in case Sam's expression contradicted his brother's declaration.

"But I'm never going to not come for you, you know that right?" Sam carefully ventured because rule #3 and any other rules that implied he wouldn't save his brother didn't apply to him, to _them_. Never would.

Dean swallowed hard. He had been to Hell and back, been neck deep in the apocalypse, was hard core..but his brother still had a way of saying things that brought tears to his eyes. "I know." And he did, just like he knew he'd do the same for Sam, for Cas. "Althouse…"

"Screw Althouse," Cas piped up, savagely. "I'll give him another talking to when we get back."

"Talking to?! You mean _beat down_?" Dean accused and Cas smiled cockily and shrugged.

Dean smiled a moment at his friend's so tempting solution before he sobered, realized the leadership nightmare that was brewing. "You can't beat up the entire camp when they call me a hypocrite. Because I am one."

Chagrined that he was causing trouble for Dean, Sam defended, "Ok, so maybe I did launch a search and rescue for you and Cas but I did not prove Althouse right." At Dean's skeptical look, he brashly rationalized, "I would have proven him right if I blew him up to save your life, not the truck."

"Please don't use that as part of your defense strategy, counselor," Dean drawled, couldn't imagine how many times his brother would have ended up with a contempt in court citation had he followed through on his desire to be a lawyer.

"I'm just staying…it was a truck I sacrificed," Sam stressed, hoped Dean couldn't read his thoughts. '_This time it was a truck but next time…who knows the lengths I'll go to save Dean.'_

"A truck we need to survive."

Considering Dean was still harping on the truck, Sam almost sighed in relief that Dean wasn't perceptive enough to know what he would risk to save him. Instead, he made a not-so-offhanded suggestion in reply to his brother's statement. "So get the Impala up and running."

"Up and…"Dean started to repeat in disbelief before he snorted. "This from the guy who can't change the oil."

But Sam knew the real issue, and it wasn't about the truck, wasn't even about the Impala for a change. And he didn't want to skirt around it, to let Dean think this was a once and done moment, wouldn't happen again. "Dean, I'm not going to apologize for valuing your life more than some truck..or a camp full of strangers. Present company excluded."

Cas simply nodded without offense, watched for Dean's reaction, same as Sam was.

Choosing to stow away the personal part of Sam's vow for better reflection later, much later, Dean focused on the professional. "Sam, they are my responsibility…our responsibility to keep alive."

Sam sighed, really wanted Dean to react to the '_I value you more than anyone else'_ part of his chick flick statement so he knew his brother got it. But that wasn't Dean's style, to accept love like it was something he _deserved_. "I'm not saying I'm not ok with that. That I won't help you do that but…_you're my priority, Dean_." Because he would get that through to his brother, had to, needed Dean to once and for all accept what he meant to him, had always meant to him. So he didn't back down when Dean shot him a startled, almost embarrassed glance, pressed on instead. "Just like saving me has been your priority since you carried me out of our burning house. Turn around is fair play, Dean."

Eyes darting away from his brother's and his hands tightly gripping the steering wheel, Dean knew he should have a comeback…but didn't. Then shooting looks between the road and his brother, he huskily said, "You shouldna done it but …thanks for coming for me…for us, Sammy."

Sam knew he had to be content, at least for now, that Dean was accepting at least his gesture of love if not his words. So he nodded. Took pity on his brother and his uncomfortableness with talk of feelings by sarcastically revealing, "But it was purely for selfish reasons."

That lightened Dean's mood, had him drawing out in anticipation a "Yeah?"

"Yeah," Sam agreed, stretching out the moment before he continued, "No way am getting stuck leading your ragtag Rebel Alliance. I so would go all Darth Vader on Althouse…Zimmer too. Risa as Leia…ok, I can see her as Jabba's slave girl…in that bikini."

Dean was full out smirking at his brother's Star Wars comparisons and appreciation for Risa's not so soldierly qualities. "What, you think you're Han Solo?!" he scoffed with a twinkle in his eye. "Dude…you're …you're ….Yoda. Yeah. Giving out pearls of wisdom that no one asks for."

Sam gave a chuckling scoff of outrage. "You ungrateful jerk! I just saved your life."

"We had it under control" Cas piped in, using one of Dean's favorite lines. But he couldn't hold back a smile, knew just how full of bullcrap his brag was.

"Sure you did," Sam sarcastically drawled.

"We did," Cas countered before lowering his voice in a mock conspiring tone. "See..Dean was going to use his boyish charm on the first less gagworthy female croat we came across and get us honorary croat citizenship with a shotgun wedding." Sam was too busy laughing to notice the if-looks-could-kill trick his brother was trying on them.

Shooting a contemptuous glare at Cas, Dean drawled, "I liked you better when you didn't have a sense of humor." But that only amused his passengers more.

"Hey, I can't help the student has now far surpassed the teacher," Cas brazenly boasted, knew that his humor, well, most of it was Dean's influence.

"Hey, I'm hilarious," Dean insisted.

Cas mumbled under his breath, "And delusional." Then he patronizingly patted Dean on the back. "It's ok, you still have your meek nature."

"You wanna walk back to camp, that can be arranged," Dean groused even as Sam chuckled at the two best friends' antics.

Leaning back in his seat and bracing his knees on the dashboard, Sam knew the Jeep wasn't the Impala but the sense of family, it was there, very much alive and well. And that was well worth his harrowing night in croat territory, the torched truck and the sure grumblings of the camp at his actions. Because, when it came down to it, any day was good…when it ended with him and Dean together.

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**TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	34. Chapter 34: Equality

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 34: Equality

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"Come on, you always say you want us to be in things 50/50," Dean lightheartedly baited.

"Yeah, and every time you institute equality, it's because the job ahead is crappy," Sam drawled, studying his brother over their breakfast plates. "Where's this coming from?"

Instead of answering, Dean dismissed, "Fine, forget I mentioned anything," and stabbed his fork into the bowl of oatmeal and pretended it was a greasy piece of bacon he was shoving into his mouth.

But Sam wasn't eating, had set his silverware down and leaned back from the table, silently watching his brother, torn between wanting to lift some of the weight of responsibility from his brother's shoulders…and terrified he'd screw up and make things worse at the camp, worse for his brother.

"You'll obey my every command?" Sam posed, his face as serious as his tone.

Dean's face, however, screwed up into objection. "I'm saying you're co-leader…not my master in some genie fantasy you have going on in your head."

Sam couldn't hold back a smirk. "Ah, come on, you'd look adorable in the genie pants, maybe a gold band in your hair," he suggested as he flicked his fingers through his brother's hair before Dean shoved his hand away.

"Hey, if anyone has the hair to do the genie ponytail, it's you Samantha."

Then the table fell silent again and they resumed eating until Sam put his fork down again, faced his brother wearing his most earnest expression. "I…I want this, us being equal partners, helping you share the burden of the camp…"

"But?" Dean prompted, could feel his brother's hesitation.

"If we do this…you need to….trust me," and Sam alone knew what he was asking, how badly he had screwed up, that Dean had every right to not trust him, with anything, let alone his life…and the camp's residents.

Holding Sam's gaze, needing his brother to accept how true his declaration was, Dean vowed, "I do, Sam." And he meant it, really meant it when he hadn't for so many years. But Sam, he wasn't the same selfish kid he had grown up with or the proud, driven man he had parted ways with five years ago. Was now someone he didn't doubt would stay with him for the long haul, would have the best interest of the camp in mind when he made his decisions, would not abandon their family business edict of saving people, not this time.

Overwhelmed and gratified at Dean's trust, Sam couldn't speak for a bit, only nodded in acceptance for the gift bestowed on him. But when he found his voice, he was using the logic tone he knew his brother always bulked against, "I need to know you'll follow my exact orders, won't whine or protest or do whatever you want regardless if I tell you not to."

"You act like I'm some ego maniac who always needs to be in charge," Dean groused. At the quirk of Sam's eyebrow, he begrudgingly relented, "Not always. And there hasn't been a lot of people wanting to step up to the plate if I wanted to rest on the bench."

"I know," Sam sympathetically replied, knew Dean had lived every day with all the camp's lives in his hands and the daunting task would have broken most men. _'But not Dean_,' he proudly thought before he said in a cheery tone, "Well, now there is." But his next words came out as an insistent plea, "But you have to let go then, let me shoulder the responsibility and the danger that comes with leading."

"Fine," Dean quickly agreed.

Too quickly for Sam's taste. "No, promise me, Dean. Really promise me you'll listen to me, to the very letter."

Dean slammed his fork down, faced Sam head on. "Yes, I promise. You want it in blood?!"

"Now that you mentioned it…yeah," Sam said around a smirk but then he surprisingly captured Dean's wrist in his hand, ensuring Dean's full attention. "You have to trust me, let me do this. Let me take this weight from you." But he knew this wasn't just for Dean, that some of his ego ached to play a vital part in the camp, to have Dean's respect enough to call him his true partner, not just for hunting but in life, for the tough times and the good ones. Which made him brokenly reveal his fears, "If we're not equals…I don't know how we cannot repeat the cycle…you know …challenging each other, keeping secrets…splitting up."

"Sam, you're my equal, my better…. on everything but charm," Dean said with both heartrending sincerity and smart aleck levity.

But Sam's grip only tightened on Dean's wrist, as if he feared he was in jeopardy of losing Dean, right then and there. "I'm not saying…I'm not leaving you. Not now …not ever. I just…if we do this….."

"We have to do it right, not half way this time," Dean soberly recognized. Because they had tried this before …and the failure of it had ripped them apart, almost for good. Sam's jerking nod proved Sam was reliving the same bad memories he was. Dropping his hand on top of Sam's, he gave it a squeeze as his eyes held Sam's, "We can do this, Sammy. We can."

And Sam believed him because he wanted to, needed to and because Dean was his big brother.

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"Ok, this mission's all yours, Sam," Dean had declared and Sam knew he should be energized with pride that Dean was relinquishing control over to him. Instead, he felt dread churning in his gut. '_You can do this,_' he encouraged himself only for his snide inner voice to caustically remind, '_Yeah, same thing you said when you were gonna get Dean outta Hell, punish Lilith, save your brother and the world with_ _him.'_

He promptly told his little voice to shut the heck up.

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Fellow refugees hold up in a farm house, that was the rumor. New allies if it was true….trap if it wasn't. And it was all on Sam to make the right call.

From Sam, Dean and Cas's vantage point from a row of trees a hundred yards away, the house looked quiet, no movement outside, windows boarded up so no idea if there was movement inside. Still as likely to be a haven for the non-infected as a croat snare for them.

Sam was planning an assault to breach the house when Cas nudged him on the shoulder, announced, "movement from the house," causing Sam to turn in time to see the house's front door open, for a forty something man, whose black hair and dark features indicated Mexican descent, to step outside, his hands raised, proving that he knew Sam and his group was there.

"We're not infected," the man shouted so his voice would carry to the trees and the men standing there. Then he came forward a few more feet, signaling a woman to step from the house too and then another man. All of them raising their hands in capitulation.

"Maybe we can share supplies….information on the croat movement," the man said again to his uninvited lurkers, purposefully pushing down the sleeves on his long sleeve shirt, lifting his shirt and turning around to reveal uncut skin and his co-patriots did the same. "I think we both could use all the help we can get." As the silence reverberated back to him, the leader entreated, stepping further away from his shelter, "Is this what it's come down to? Life without trust? Not aiding one another? Then they have won…and we might as well just drive into a city and let them turn us all."

And that convicted Sam, knew it had Dean too when he saw the chagrin expression on his brother's face. "We're coming to talk!" Sam shouted back, watched as the man lowered his hands and nodded for his two friends to go back into the house. But Sam knew he would have a battle on his hands even before he told Dean his plan.

"Cas and I will go talk to him, search the house. Pull the other team up and have them wait here with you," Sam commanded Dean.

"No, I'll go with you," Dean countered, starting to shrug his weapon bag off his shoulder.

But Sam caught the bag and resettled it back onto his brother's shoulder, kept his hand there. "No, Dean. You're not. You're staying back here."

Dean scowled. "Is this payback because I took Cas along on that recon mission and not you."

"Aww, no need to fight over me," Cas smartmouthed, hoping to defuse the tension between the brothers but it was like he hadn't spoken. As usual, the brothers were in a world of their own.

"No, Dean! This is about strategy, about having someone to have my back if I need it, about someone leading the other team who they will actually listen to if this goes crappy. It's about me leading this mission….like you said I was," Sam stridently pointed out, knew this was the make-it-or-break-it moment for their new partnership and he felt sick to his stomach that it would crumble apart in his hands.

Dean clenched his jaw and then exhaled, shrugged his shoulders and conceded, "Fine."

But Sam stepped closer, crowded Dean's personal space, needed to make sure he and Dean were on the same footing. "Which means, you stay put, don't move an inch…unless I tell you to, give you the all clear sign."

"Yeah, yeah," Dean offhandedly agreed.

That wasn't good enough for Sam, didn't do a thing to assuage his fears. So he latched onto Dean's arm and pulled Dean away from Cas, didn't let his brother yank his arm from his grip when they were out of ear shot. "Dean, you promised me."

"I know!" Dean growled. "I'm obeying your decisions like a good little soldier." But then he gave a dark chuckle. "This is ironic, right, because you always hated when I obeyed Dad's orders like a "good little soldier.""

Sam paled at Dean's recall of the words he had once threw contemptuously at his brother…right before he tried to empty a gun magazine into him, thanks to a freaky ghost's ability to ramp up his frustration and anger.

Through gritted teeth, Sam refuted, "Unlike Dad, I'm not willing to throw you into the line of fire when there are better, _safer_ ways to get a job done."

"Oh, so I'm supposed to stay in the safety zone, while you march out there into what could be a full on ambush. Good plan, Sammy," Dean disapprovingly goaded.

"You should like it…it's what you would do, what you have done, what our _Dad _taught us to do_. _Assess the situation, come up with a plan, execute the plan, save people," Sam snapped before he tried to calm himself down, act like the leader Dean was counting on him being. With a rational tone he continued, "This plan is good and you know it. And if it's about not trusting me…"

"It's not that," Dean quickly denied, didn't want Sam thinking it was. He chose his next words carefully. "Sitting back on the sidelines when you're in danger…" he shook his head, swallowed, "Not something I'm good at. Never was."

"I know," Sam hoarsely replied, didn't think Dean would believe him if he said he felt the same way every time Dean faced off with some fugly without him at his side. "But we need for this to work, for your sake…and mine." Then he jerked his head toward the road beyond where the second team waited. "For their sakes. You can't continue to burn yourself out being their savior out of kindness….or guilt." Because he knew Dean, knew the camp was a way he tried to assuage the guilt for his apart in the apocalypse but Sam didn't want his brother to die trying for atonement. Atonement Sam had already granted to Dean.

Dean felt his breath trap in his lungs, should have known Sam would always see through him, to his true motives…and deepest hurts. "So you want me to sit on my hands while you go play big man on campus," he lightly deduced.

"I want you to have my back, to only break cover if and ONLY if I signal to you, which I'll only do if I trust these guys are our allies. Without my signal, _no matter what happens_, you don't move," Sam stressed. "Tell me you're going to stay here, that you meant what you said, that I'm in charge, that you trust me because….that's what this comes down to, Dean. Trust. You trusting me to handle this. Because if you don't trust me…no one in camp will."

And Dean wouldn't let anyone think badly of his brother. Ever. '_No, let that up to me to call Sam monster and think the worst of him_.' But that was the past and in the here and now, he could make atonement for that. Could prove to Sam…and himself, that he trusted his brother. That Sam could trust him to follow where he led. "Ok…I'm here like a statue until you signal me. You have my word, Sammy."

In a raw show of affection, Sam patted Dean on the cheek. Then he and Cas were stalking toward the house and the waiting man. To either make new friends….or slaughter every last person in the house before they could do harm to those they had sworn to protect.

**SN2014SN2014SN2014**

As he approached the house at Sam's side, Cas kept his hand close to the rifle slung over his shoulder, ready to react the moment something felt off. His eyes caught something on the ground and he lowly told Sam, "There's wards burned into the ground…in Enochian."

Under his breath Sam asked, "To keep angels out…."

"No, something my kind…well, my ex-kind would use to ward a bunker against any attacks from Hell."

"But the croats… they're mongrels at best, can down as much salt as they want and stroll through devil's traps." Because Sam had tried all that over the years and none of it had worked. So he had just resigned himself to simply out and out killing the infected.

"This isn't about the infected," Cas informed, before shooting Sam a meaningful look. "It's about keeping out the possessed."

"So they know about possessions, fear the possessed as much as croats?" Sam deduced and it should have made him feel better, that this group was well informed, heck, might even have hunters in their numbers. Instead, it raised his hackles.

Cas gave a wry smile. "Should make our visit very interesting."

**SN2014SN2014SN2014**

With Althouse, Risa, Zimmer and Pitt now lying down in the underbrush in a new position to the left of the house, Dean apprehensively watched his brother and best friend's progress toward the house and the man standing outside it.

"So what's the plan?" Althouse asked, an irritated edge to his tone even before he heard what the said plan was.

"Sam and Cas check the situation out and Sam will signal us if everything's kosher," Dean reported like he was absolutely fine with being relegated to second string.

"And if everything isn't kosher?" Althouse sneered but Dean didn't reply, didn't want to think about how things might turn out with that scenario. When Althouse shuffled over to join Zimmer, Dean was relieved that Risa took his place at his side.

"You doing ok?" she gently inquired as if she knew this was hard for him, watching his brother be in danger.

"Ask me later when I know we're all getting home in one piece," Dean hedged, didn't shake off the hand she rested on his forearm.

"He'll be ok because he knows you need him to be," Risa assured before she drew her hand back and checked her gun, like the seasoned soldier she had become in the last year.

And there it was again, another person thinking that everything Sam did was about him. '_But if Sam makes sure he gets out of this without a scratch for my sake….no way am I going to complain.'_

SN2014SN2014SN2014

Stopping a few yards from the Mexican, who had the build of a soldier and the sharp attentiveness of an intellectual, Sam spoke first, "How many in your group?"

"Thirteen," the man supplied without reservations. "We've come from the East, lost some good people in the journey."

Sam solemnly nodded in sympathy for their loss. "We came across a man in Milton, said he stayed a night with you and moved on but you were looking for other survivors to join up with."

The man gave a small smile. "Old saying's still true, that there's safety in numbers."

But Sam's little voice that sounded a lot like Dean jeered, '_Or just more people trying to kill you_.' Trying to shut down his distrust, Sam introduced, "I'm Sam. This is Cas." But he didn't reach out his hand to clasp the Mexican's, didn't generally go in for the human touch anymore, not unless it was Dean. Cas followed Sam's lead and kept his hand to himself.

Dropping his unaccepted hand but not his smile, the man reciprocated, "Alvaro Martinez, but everyone calls me Martinez."

"Can we come in?" Sam inquired, fully expecting to be shut down because times were dangerous and they were unknown to Martinez.

But the man waved his hand graciously toward the still open doorway. "Welcome. We can offer your other friends water and some vegetables we grew at our last home," nodding his head to the trees, where he thought Sam's 'other friends' waited for Sam's verdict.

The hospitality sparked alarm in Sam and he exchanged a look with Cas, knew his friend was getting the same unsettling vibes he was. But that didn't stop Sam from stepping into the house…and Cas from loyally following him.

**SN2014SN2014**

Dean cursed as he watched Sam and Cas enter the friggin' house…without giving him the Ok signal.

"Something wrong?" Risa asked.

"Maybe not wrong but….not right either," Dean vaguely gave in answer.

**SN2014SN2014**

Eyes warily scanning his surroundings, Sam found that Martinez hadn't lied …so far. That there were twelve men and woman in the house. No children Sam noted. "No children?" he posed aloud.

With an air of sadness, Martinez shook his head. "No. No children, no families. Seems the world is set to make us all orphans. Well, except for the family we make for ourselves."

Again, Sam felt the rush of thankfulness for Dean, that he had Dean, that they had each other. That in a world where so very few families survived, his had.

Cas spoke in Sam's silence, nodding toward the three men positioned by the windows, rifles in their hands though pointing unthreateningly at the floor. But their stances… he had seen Dean adopted many times, when he wanted to appear calm but was actually coiled to react to any threat….lethally. "You're group seems well trained and informed." Didn't out and out say hunters but it was implied to those in the know. Like Sam.

It helped Sam to know that Cas was as uneasy as he was, that it still felt like they had knowingly walked into the lion's den. Martinez humble reply did nothing to dispel that feeling.

"I'll take that as a compliment. I was a soldier as was Hector and Phil. Never thought we would need our skills to stay alive in our own country," Martinez said, trying to engender camaraderie he wasn't granted by his two stone faced guests. To Sam he directed, "You have that military vibe about you. Navy?" Like the rivalry between the armed forces mattered anymore when every US citizen was either busy killing each other…or trying to stay alive.

Not bothering to even acknowledge Martinez's theory, Sam coldly granted, "I can have someone bring you some gas…some clothing, we can spare some outdated boxes of oatmeal or some other canned food."

Tension zigging through him, Cas inconspicuously shifted his hand to his rifle, rested his finger on the trigger. Wholehearted agreed with Sam's decision because something was just not right with Martinez and his merry followers but he didn't think Martinez would take the news well that Sam was not granting him and his a place with them.

"Gas," Martinez spat as if he was offended by the offer. "We can get supplies ourselves. It's a safe place to be that we've come all this way for. Maybe…" he toned down his anger with effort before donning a pensive look. "Maybe if I talk to your leader, tell him our story."

At Martinez's request, alarms went off in Sam's head. Because, though Martinez wasn't asking for his brother by name, Sam suddenly didn't doubt that the man knew Dean Winchester was the reputed leader of their group. That whatever this smooth talking man with his well-trained soldiers and Enochian wards wanted with Dean, it wasn't something good, wasn't something Sam would like.

Sam ached to pull his .45, to demand what Martinez wanted with his brother but he knew cool heads had to prevail if he and Cas wanted to walk out of there alive. So he shrugged like he didn't take offense to Martinez wanting his request to go up the command chain. "Fine, I'll go back to our bunker, see if our leader wants to meet with you." Didn't want to imply Dean was just outside the friggin' door, within yards of Martinez.

But Sam read the expression on Martinez's face, knew the man wasn't about to let he and Cas out the door. So with scary proficiently, Sam drew his .45 and leveled it at Martinez's head even as he saw Cas raise his rifle, not to the two armed men on the right, but to the three unarmed woman in the middle of the room, hoping to use scare tactics of threatening innocents.

Martinez didn't cower under the Sam's gun sight but smirked. "Six against one odds is kinda easy to dismiss these days. But ten to one…" and he jerked his head up, to the landing over the second floor, to the additional members of his team that he didn't include in his head count. "Now, are you going to call your leader in here…or am I?"

Unflinchingly keeping his gun on Martinez's skull, Sam quirked, "You know I'd call him on the phone, tell him to head out here to meet you but my cell plan doesn't cover long distance calls." No way was he letting this paramilitary wack job think he could use him as leverage to get Dean, _who was just outside_, to come in for a chat.

But Martinez gave a wolf's smile. "Why call …when you can just open the door and yell for him?" Then he gave a nod to one of his men to do just that, instructed, "Tell them Sam wants Dean to come in."

That gravitated Sam and Cas to throw caution to the wind, to let their protective instincts for Dean take over.

**SN2014S2014SN**

Dean's head jerked up at the sound of gunfire coming from the house and he was half way off the ground before he remembered the pledge he had made to Sam. Cursing, he dropped back to the dirt, his hands gripping his rifle almost as hard as he was grinding his teeth together.

His heart was pounding so hard it felt like it would soon break free and bounce around in his chest cavity and his ears strained for another sound, something more reassuring, like Sam's voice. All the while, his eyes were glued to the house, to the door which was no longer open.

Everything in him wanted to run for the house, to find Sam, Cas too and take out anyone who got in his way. It was only his promise to his brother that kept him routed to the spot, waiting, hoping…praying.

**SN2014SN2014SN2014**

So some might not call it a win exactly but the fact that he and Sam weren't dead, it meant pretty much to Cas. That and the fact that he had shot the guy about to call out for Dean, to use Dean's name as if Sam would divulge that information, either of them would show that level of trust to this sketchy group. At the time, Cas thought kicking the door shut before anyone else could try to lure Dean in was a good idea, until it left him and Sam trapped in the house.

Hey, nobody's plans were perfect, certainly not the Winchesters'.

And now he and Sam were on their knees, lined up against the wall, hands tied behind them. Sure, they had put up a fight, a good one but the 10-to-1 odds thing, it mattered, even when you had a Winchester on your side.

"What do you want with Dean?" Sam furiously demanded like he was the one doing the interrogating, purposefully not revealing his relationship to Dean.

Martinez crouched down before Sam and answered him by asking his own question. "Do you have any idea who you're following?! What he's done…or, in his case, what he _didn't_do?!" raw hatred brimming from his every word.

A chill went down Sam's spine at the implications, of what Martinez might know. "What are you talking about?" he spat, playing dumb.

"He did this…all of this. Brought it all down on our heads and when he had the chance to stop it….he did _nothing_," Martinez maliciously condemned and his eyes narrowed when Sam paled at his words. Said the next with new understanding, "But you know all that, don't you. And you still follow him?!"

It was Cas who scathingly retorted, "You hear some stories over a campfire and you think you know the choice Dean had, the rights and the wrongs of what he did. You have no _idea_ the good that is in him. What he's _sacrificed _to try and save as many people as he could."

Martinez's lips turned down into a mocking distaste at Cas' version of the end of the world. "You think we're just blindly pointing fingers, that we've spent years looking for Dean, choosing our mission over survival, on hearsay."

Fear blanketed Sam at Martinez's words, at the focused intent of them, at the unwaveringness of his convictions…and the hint of indisputable proof he somehow had of Dean's actions. "Why do you want Dean?"

For the first time, Martinez let weariness creep into his expression. "At first, to turn him over to Zachariah, force him to do God's will and say yes to Michel and end the apocalypse. But now…with Zachariah and Michael and the other angels gone, I have to be satisfied with killing him as slowly and as painfully as I know how."

**SN2014SN2014SN2014**

** TBC**

**SN2014SN2014SN2014**

And Yes, I had to throw in one last cliffie for this story! Only two chapters to go, then this AU takes a bow. I'm gonna miss it…leave it up to Supernatural to make me miss the apocalypse!

Thanks for reading and reviewing.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	35. Chapter 35: Trust

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

**SN2014SN2014SN2014SN **

Chapter 35: Trust

**SN2014SN2014SN2014SN**

_For the first time, Martinez let weariness creep into his expression. "At first, to turn him over to Zachariah, force him to do God's will and say yes to Michael and end the apocalypse. But now…with Zachariah and Michael and the other angels gone, I have to be satisfied with killing him as slowly and as painfully as I know how."_

_**SN2014SN2014SN**_

Stunned at Martinez's knowledge, at his pledge to kill his brother, Sam struggled to not panic, to think of a way out of this. To not let this man's hatred touch Dean.

"You were a servant of Zachariah's," Cas surmised in astonishment, looking at Martinez and his forces in a new light. "There were rumors that he had human subordinates but I never believed it."

"Guess you're looking at living proof now," Martinez drawled out, arms raised to include the men and woman in the farm house.

Sensing the pride, the loyalty in Martinez's tone, Cas bluntly reminded, "Zachariah left you behind, in this ravaged place. For all of your loyalty, he didn't spare you this fate."

"There was nothing else he could do!" Martinez shouted back. "Not since Dean Winchester's cowardice doomed our world."

The slanderous account incited Sam to passionately defend his brother. "Dean's no coward! Your buddy Zachariah forgot to tell you some details…like what it would cost our world if Dean said yes to Michael, if the heavenly war was waged here on earth. Close to entire annihilation of us, of the humans, of _you and his other blind followers_!"

"More excuses for your leader's soulless decision to run away instead of doing the right thing! He started this…in Hell." Reading Sam and Cas' expressions as surprise at an unknown facet of Dean instead of upset at his knowledge of Dean's time in Hell, Martinez was nearly gloating, "Yeah, your hero spent time in Hell, _the real one_. Became a true servant of darkness there and set our world on the road to where we are now. But Zachariah gave him a way to redeem himself, to save the world and you know what… **he didn't take it**."

"No, you have it wrong," Sam contested, attempting to reason with Zachariah's misled dupe. "Dean's tried everything to save the world not…"

Martinez backhanded Sam, cutting his lip and silencing him. "He might have you fooled, might have sold you on his savior guise but not me, not us. You think he's rounding up survivors for something _noble?_!"

"He's my _brother_, I know him better than anyone else," Sam fervently declared, knew it was ironic that his words weren't that different from Dean's to Althouse about him. "And if you want to blame someone for all this…you should blame me. I opened the cage, not Dean. I broke the last seal, condemned the world to all this. I'm Sam Winchester."

But Martinez totally missed the important points of Sam's speech. "Brother? Huh? That's a nice bargaining chip I didn't count on." Shot an excited cocky look to one of his men at this new tidbit. "Dean coming in here for his two soldiers was iffy. Him coming in here to save his _brother…_well, we're about to see if your faith in your brother is misplaced."

Sam prayed it wasn't, but he didn't doubt Dean in the way Martinez thought he should. Because he wanted to have faith that Dean would follow his orders, would not come in the house, no matter what Martinez said or threatened. Because if Dean broke his promise, if he didn't hold his position and wait for his signal to break cover, if his brother came into the house in some rescue mission or hostage negotiation tactic…he would die.

'_Some leader I'm turning out to be_. _First order of business: get myself taken hostage. Second order: put my brother in the untenable position of following my orders and maybe letting me die or disobeying them in an effort to save me and unknowingly be committing suicide.'_

Sam had never respected his brother's innate leadership capabilities more than he did right then.

When Martinez left his two captives to go talk with his men, Cas urgently whispered, "We have to do something. If Dean agrees to talk with Martinez, comes in here…."  
"He's a dead man, yeah, got that," Sam bit out, his self-anger making his words sharp. "I told him to hold his position, to not come out without my signal."

Cas shook his head at Sam's naivety, sarcastically posed, "Yeah…and we believe he'll stick to that if Martinez threatens to kill you if doesn't come in here?!"

But Sam had to believe in Dean's loyalty to him, trust in him. "He made me a promise, Cas," he announced like that should assuage all of their fears.

"Protecting you trumps any promises for Dean…always has before," Cas unhelpfully reminded Sam.

'_Please, not this time, Dean. Keep your friggin' promise and stay where you're at_!'

Then their conversation was cut short as they were both toppled backward to lean against the wall before they were gagged and their legs were tied at the ankle in front of them. Making whatever rescue plan they even wanted to form that much harder.

**SN2014SN2014**

Opening a window a crack, Martinez shouted to the onlookers on his property, "Hold your fire! Hold your fire! One of my men…he got startled, shot your man, Sam, I think is his name."

The words gutted Dean. Put everything in sharp, painful detail….like it had when he watched the hospital work on his father…before turning off the shrill steady whine of the heart monitor.

"He's hurt but…he's alive. Please just…let me come out, explain things," Martinez drenched his words with apology. "We're not monsters, we're all humans and we just…we're having a miscommunication."

"Miscommunication?!" Dean shouted furiously. "You shot …..one of my men!" chose to not say 'my brother', to not give that vital piece of information to his enemies.

"By mistake. Please just…send one of your men in for him. Then we'll just…part ways," Martinez entreated.

"No, you send him and Cas out. Now!" Dean thundered, fisting the underbrush in his grip to stop himself from storming the farm and getting his brother and friend out by force.

"I…I don't have the luxury of trust, not when I have lives I'm responsible for." And Martinez sounded so honorable, it made Sam want to rip his heart out even more. Because he knew Martinez's consideration for his followers was fake, and Dean's wasn't, that he was playing on Dean's loyalty from every angle. Was so relieved at Dean's response.

"Right back at you! I'm not going to send more of my people into your trap." Because Dean knew all about traps, had set and friggin' tripped more than his fair share.

"I wasn't …we meant no harm," Martinez tried to sell to Dean.

"Tell that to Sam!" Dean furiously shouted back, promising to end whoever had hurt his brother, regardless if Sam just had a flesh wound.

"Look…we can do this stand off or you can make sure your soldier doesn't bleed out."

As his hope that Sam just had a flesh wound was torn away from him, Dean felt his throat close up, didn't know how to honor the promise he made to Sam to follow his orders and yet get Sam out of this alive.

Martinez whispered to the gagged Sam and Cas. "Let's see how honorable your brother and leader really is." Then he raised his voice to communicate to Dean again. "We're both leaders, want what's best for our people. And us…killing each other, it's not what either of us want. Makes us no better than the infected. I'll come out unarmed if you give me your word that you'll come out and just talk to me, let us solve this without more loss of lives."

Knowing that Martinez was saying all the right things, laying on the guilt, playing on Dean's desire to save him, to spare his people from a blood bath, Sam tried to shout around the rag in his mouth, to scream for Dean to not come out, to not come for him. He struggled to free his hands from their bindings and got a rifle butt to his temple that toppled him right over onto Cas' lap for his efforts.

Dean was clutching so hard onto his rifle the metal seemed in jeopardy of bending. He wanted to say yes, to get to Sam so badly it made him ill. But to do so would be a betrayal of Sam, to maybe end whatever trust had been reforged between them, to express to Sam that he wasn't worthy to follow. And he couldn't do that to Sam, couldn't break the trust Sam had given to him, wouldn't. So he hoarsely called out his answer. "Sorry. I can't come out and play with you."

"Surely your brother's life is worth a chance at peace," Martinez taunted, losing his cool enough to show some of his hand.

Dean froze at the man's goading. '_He knows Sam's my brother…and Sam wouldn't have told them that, Cas either._' Because all three of them had come to know that bonds tended to get exploited in this day and age, had made an unspoken pact to not brag up their connections…or talk about their past to anyone. Certainly not Waco Texas cult types. So the guy's knowledge about Sam…it totally changed the game they were playing.

Blinking hard, trying to get his aching head to stop making his vision spin, Sam was about to try to sit up again, to stop using Cas' legs as a pillow when Cas leaned down to him, mumbled something, mostly incomprehensible to him through his gag.

But even still it took three repeats before Sam could decipher Cas' mumble into a word: Belt.

**SN2014SN2014SN2014**

The brave "I can go" came from the most unlikely of sources: Althouse. Then the soldier started to rise from his position beside his leader, had managed to only lever himself off the ground a few inches before Dean roughly yanked him back down into the dirt beside him.

"You're staying here. We're _all _staying here," Dean sharply commanded, raising his voice and scanning the faces of his team around him, making sure they got that his order included them.

Althouse pointed to the house, said unnecessarily, "It's your brother in there and he's hurt! Cas is maybe …worse than hurt for all we know."

Forcing himself to not react to Althouse's grim recap, Dean growled into his subordinate's face, "Exactly and you getting yourself hurt, killed or captured doesn't solve anything, would just up the tally of the people I have to worry about."

Althouse was stunned at Dean's words, at the man's logic and his concern for _him_ when it was his brother's life at stake.

"Sam ordered us to stay here and wait for his signal to break cover, so that's what we're gonna do," Dean said like he didn't harbor any doubts about sitting on his hands while his brother maybe bled out.

It was Zimmer who restated the grim facts. "Your brother's captured, hurt, if that guy's telling the truth. Dean, he's in no position to signal us."

Dean ran a hand down his face, part of him knew that he should do what his instincts told him to and his heart was 99% in agreement. But it was that 1% that was tripping him up, that was replaying his and Sam's last talk, face to face, after dealing with War, before they parting ways, not knowing they wouldn't see each other for another five years, in a world they wouldn't have recognized back then.

_**SN2014SN2014SN**_

"_I know you don't trust me. I don't trust me either,"_ Sam had said and Dean…he hadn't contradicted him, or what his brother had said next. "_Something in me scares me, Dean. I'm dangerous. It's best if we go our separate ways."_

"_I think you're right. Truth is, I spend more time worrying about you than doing the job right." _And then Dean had watched his brother walk away, leave him and he didn't stop him…didn't even want to stop him.

_**SN2014SN2014SN**_

A hand on his shoulder jarred Dean out of his memories and he saw that it was Risa, her face concerned and he knew he had lost a bit of time. But the trip down memory lane, it cemented his resolve. He couldn't, he _wouldn't_ let Sam doubt himself anymore, to let his brother go on thinking he was dangerous to have around, that there was something evil lurking in him, that Dean worried about him ..instead of had faith that he would get the job done, sometimes better than Dean could.

With a proud smirk, Dean proclaimed to Zimmer, "My brother's gotten out of way worst situations. He'll find a way to signal us, to let us know when we should take the house. Our job is to be ready. Course providing a little distraction never hurts. Pitt, you better have brought that bow and arrow I asked you to."

**SN2014SN2014SN**

Sam assumed he was supposed to use Cas' belt buckle to saw through the wire binding his hands behind his back. But when he blindly reached his bound hands to Cas's belt, he startled as something way sharper than a buckle nicked his fingers. A knife. The tricky SOB had a knife belt buckle…and it didn't take a lot of guesses to know who had fashioned it for him: Dean.

'_Jerk's still rescuing me even when he's not here_,' Sam thought without a shred of resentment as he pulled the knife free and started inconspicuously cutting through his bindings.

**SN2014SN2014SN**

Returning to the window and his rapt audience, Martinez baited, "Your brother, he thinks you're some kind of hero, Dean. Guess he doesn't know you as well as he thinks he does."

"Sam's always been a bit prejudice when it comes to me. What can you do, he's my little brother," Dean sallied back even as he gestured for three of his team to spread out along the perimeter, to get ready for the sign from Sam.

"And he'll die if you don't come out."

Dean pretended the emotional blackmail didn't affect him, offered up a quip instead. "Wow. What happened to your whole let's-be-friends routine?"

"This is war!" Martinez irately volleyed back before he got himself under control, knew Winchester was just trying to unnerve him. "But you already know that. You were there when it all began. Today might be the day it ends …for your brother."

Chilled at the guileless threat to Sam, Dean savagely vowed, "If Sam doesn't make it, I'll torch you and your whole community!"

"We're ready to die for our convictions, are you? Or are you still the coward Zachariah said you were," Martinez drawled, wishing he could see Dean's face at his jeer.

At the mention of Zachariah, Dean made the logical leap he hadn't been able to before, understood why he was number-one-with-a-bullet for this whack job. "I thought there were bad vibes between us and now I know why. Whatever he told you, you can be sure it was edited for content."

"Rrriigghtt," Martinez drawled with mocking amusement. "Your brother and angel friend have been trying to sell me the other tale, about how _valorous_ you are."

"Valorous?" Dean repeated back with a bark of dark humor. "Yeah, I don't think either of them would ever call me that."

Frustrated that the man he wanted to hurt, to see broken and cringing in fear seemed to be dismissing all his threats, Martinez took a potshot with his rifle at the tree line he thought Dean's voice was coming from. "They won't call you anything if you don't show yourself because _I will kill them_, be assured of that."

Dean raised his head after ducking when he saw Martinez's rifle muzzle shoved out the window and then heard the echo of rifle fire, way off from his position. He calmly denied Martinez's invitation to die by his hands. "See, the thing is, Sam's on point this mission and he ordered me to hold my ground. So I've got to pass on the meet and greet thing."

"You're joking and your brother's _dying!_ You're even more of a heartless sadist than Zachariah described you as being."

And right then, Dean wished he was heartless. It would make this whole situation easier to bear. "You let Sam die or hurt Cas and there goes your bargaining chip. You're not that dumb, are you?"

"You're right. I don't need your angel buddy."

Before Dean could barely process the words, he jerked as the sound of a handgun going off echoed out from the house.

"So now it's just down to your brother, Dean."

Head sinking to the ground, Dean closed his eyes as shudders went through him. Cas couldn't be dead, he couldn't be! He was too brave, too smart. '_Too loyal to me. I doomed him from the start.' _

Hoping Dean would now take him more seriously, Martinez returned to the window. "Dean, you can still save your brother. Just do the right thing and come out. Don't condemn your brother by your cowardice like you've condemned the rest of us."

**SN2014SN2014**

Risa reached for Dean, put her hand on his bowed neck and pressed her forehead to his cheek. Quietly said, "You don't know Cas is dead. This guy just wants to hurt you anyway he can."

Swallowing down a sob, Dean lifted his anguished eyes to Risa's. "If he killed Cas, I'll rip his heart out." Then he raised his voice and acidly condemned, "You're the coward! Instead of trying to save people, you've spent years following Zachariah's sick orders, an angel that left you high and dry to die here with the rest of us. I thought I was a chump for believing his bull for so long but you, buddy, take the cake."

"I have religion!" Martinez petulantly boasted.

"But not faith!" Dean shouted, ached to stand up, to look the SOB in the eyes, to tear his conviction apart as they stood toe to toe. "How's this helping anyone?! You tracking me down, threatening the people I love..for what, revenge?! Whatever you know or think you know about me, at least I'm trying to make amends, know the value of the human lives under my protection. You….you set up your whole community as bait…for me, for me to come, knowing full well it could turn into a blood bath where no one walks away. Where's the hope in that, in killing me, in sacrificing your people, even yourself to make me pay for my sins?! That man that met my soldiers and told us about you, he said he stayed a night with you but then you forced him to leave the next day, wouldn't give him shelter another night…or protection. Tell me again, how holy you are?"

"My mission is righteous! My goal …my _anger_ is righteous!" Martinez stammered in his red haze of indignation and fury.

"Righteous?!" Dean scoffed almost with a hint of pity. "Is that what Zach told you…like he nicknamed me the Righteous Man. Well, let me tell you, if my being righteous means throwing my guns to the ground, forgiving you for whatever you've done to Sam and to…to Cas and letting you murder me and my people to atone for my sins….I'm not that guy."

And to back up that conviction, Dean motioned Risa to find cover behind a tree even as he grabbed the bow and arrow off the ground and kept low as he made his way behind a tree of his own.

Sensing Dean's words as the threat they were, Martinez cautioned, "If you kill us…you kill your brother too."

Silently Dean cursed the man for saying exactly what he didn't want to think about. '_Come on, Sam_. _Give me a sign that you're ok, that what I'm planning to do won't end up killing you.' _

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Though shaken, Cas was alive. Martinez hadn't followed through on his threat, had pointblank fired his handgun at him, yes, but the bullet's trajectory skimmed by his head to slam into the wall. Which lead Cas to believe that Dean had been right, and Martinez knew it, that you didn't heedlessly waste bargaining chips, even when you had more than one of them.

And, seconds _after_ Cas almost got his head blown off, because that was _his_ type of luck, Sam finally had his hands free. Keeping the ruse going that he was still bound, Sam kept his hands behind his back, made it seem a struggle to lever himself off Cas. But as he sat up, he slipped the knife into Cas's bound hands.

When the knife handle bumped his hand, Sam knew Cas was free, well, Cas's hands, like his, were free. Their feet, luckily, weren't tied with wire but cloth however it would take precious seconds to cut through it. What they needed was a distraction….and nobody did distractions better than Dean.

Scanning Martinez's group and finding none were looking his way, Sam used slow unnoticeable motions to reach up and untie his gag, mouthed to Cas 'Wait' before he shouted as loudly as his lung capacity allowed. "Dean! Hood!"

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Weak kneed with relief at the sound of Sam's voice, Dean scheduled a chick-flick breakdown later and followed Sam's orders, lit the one and only explosive charged arrow they had, notched it up on his bow and let it fly….right through the second story window. "Fire in the Hole!" he shouted for all he was worth, cautioning Sam and Cas what was coming.

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Hearing Dean's warning, Sam lurched to the right, tackled Cas to the ground and covered his friend's body with his own even as he pressed his head down as close to the floor as he could. Didn't doubt he and Dean were on the same wavelength, that Dean, who he had taunted mercilessly about thinking he was Robin Hood with his new fascination with bow and arrows, had come up with the same idea for a distraction and long distance assault as he did.

The sound of a window breaking upstairs came moments before an explosion ripped through that level of the house, raining debris down around them, filling the house with smoke and giving them one heck of a distraction. Which Sam didn't waste, made quick work of the tie around Cas's legs, was about to do his own when Cas surged to his feet, body slammed into one of Martinez's soldiers who was leveling his gun at Sam.

A few moment later, Sam was free, came to his feet, rushed the other trained soldier Martinez had and knocked him unconscious with his vicious uppercut. Snagging the man's gun off the ground, he shot Cas' opponent, who was trying to overpower Cas and was inching his rifle barrel under Cas' jaw.

Too late Sam sensed Martinez's attention on him, turned as the man's finger started to press the trigger…but a burning arrow zinged between them, struck a couch. It immediately went up in a fireball, the wave of heat knocking Martinez and Sam to the ground.

Then rifle fire erupted as Martinez's men, those who were still alive on the 2nd floor, fired on Dean's location.

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Dean was notching another burning arrow when rifle fire started peppering the ground and air around him. He retreated back behind the tree, stood there, trying to be thin as bullets thunked into the tree trunk. "I think I got their attention," he called out to Risa, shooting her a cocky smile.

"You think," Risa sarcastically called back over the sound of gunfire before she sighted her rifle on the window where she saw rifle flashes and let lose her own barrage of bullets.

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The room was filling with smoke, making visibility crap and Sam almost struck out with the knife when someone grabbed his arm but Cas's "It's me," stopped his defensive move just in time. He let Cas pull him to his feet and then they parted ways again, each selecting different opponents.

Martinez was by the window, seemingly oblivious to the chaos in the house, his full attention drawn to the target he had between his rifle sights. Sam didn't doubt he was aiming at Dean, wanted to fulfil the twisted duty Zachariah had convinced him was honorable …and worth his life and all who followed him. Menacingly, Sam ran for Martinez.

Meanwhile, Cas used his stolen rifle to good use and began strafing the ceiling with bullets, knew that Dean and his team were taking fire from those still alive upstairs. He paused only to rifle butt one of the unarmed women of Martinez's clan who charged him. She fell backwards onto the ground, stunned and bleeding.

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Dean notched up another flaming arrow, and when there was a break in the bullets pin cushioning his tree, he chanced stepping out from his cover, aimed his arrow for the second floor. Not aware that he had just stepped right into the crosshair's of Martinez's expert marksmanship.

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Sam tackled Martinez as the man pulled the trigger, unknowingly ensured that the bullet that erupted went off course by a few inches, nicked Dean's forearm instead of sinking into his heart as intended. As it was, Sam and Martinez slammed into the ground, traded punches. When Martinez's right cross knocked Sam off him, he scrambled forward on his hands and knees retrieved his rifle that he had lost his grip on when Sam tackled him But when he turned around to shoot Sam, Sam had already breached his personal space, was decisively plunging a knife into his chest. And unlike Martinez's shot at Dean, Sam's aim was true, punctured the other man's heart with cold proficiency.

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Pressing his hand against his nicked forearm to slow down the bloodloss, Dean prophetically commanded to his team, "Only take out the ones leaving the house that are shooting back at us. And for Pete Sake, don't shoot my brother!" Before a minute later, the farm house door was thrown open and people started to stumble out. And as they were ordered, Dean's team only shot those who were armed, squeezed off a shot in their general direction, the rest ran away and they let them.

Then Dean heard the best thing ever: Sam's voice.

"Dean, we're good and we're coming out."

And Dean found himself clinging to the surprising, "We" part of Sam's statement. Stood there nearly trembling as his brother's tall figure stepped into the doorway and he felt himself smiling that goofy, relieved smile Sam accused him of having. And on Sam's heels…came Cas. A very much alive Cas.

Foregoing manly restraint, Dean ran for the two men, who were hunched over coughing after their exposure to the smoke now billowing out of the house. Reaching the duo, he latched onto Sam's shoulders even as bent down to look up at Sam's face. "Sam, where you shot?" his eyes scanning his brother's body for bullet holes.

"No where, he lied," Sam answered around a cough, his hands coming out to clutch onto Dean.

Reassured that Sam wasn't sporting any holes, Dean released his frantic grip on his brother, watched as Sam straightened. Then Dean turned to Cas, reached out and affectionately cupped the side of Cas' neck where a reassuring heart beat thumbed under his palm.

"I'm not hurt, Dean," Cas hoarsely promised, could see the fear and anguish Martinez's lie had invoked starting to fade in Dean's eyes.

When Dean nodded in acceptance of Cas' words and dropped his hand from Cas, he wasn't expecting Sam to fling himself into his arms and wrap him into a near bone crushing hug. Dean hesitated only a moment before he returned the embrace but couldn't resist pointing out, "You do know that you're the one that almost got killed, right?"

"You followed my orders, Dean. If you hadn't…."Sam breathlessly said, holding Dean even tighter. "Thank you." And in case Dean didn't get what he was thanking him for, Sam pulled back but kept a needy hold of Dean and voiced it all. "For following my orders, for not getting yourself killed, for trusting my decisions even if it meant my death."

"Yeah, you suck so bad right now," Dean rasped, humor and heartbreak in his comeback.

"I know I do," Sam achingly agreed, part with apology and part with joy as his eyes unwaveringly held Dean's.

Cas broke into their moment by grousing, "You know, I still don't get how that's a rousing declaration of warmth."

Turning to Cas, Dean gruffly reproached, "You moron. I thought he killed you. You suck too."

At first Cas' face creased in protest of taking the blame for actions wholly out of his control but then understanding sparked in his gaze and he drawled, "Ok…yeah, I get it. Well then …if we're talking about times when you've scared the crap out of me….you both suck…like every day."

With that, Dean pulled Cas toward him, instigated the three way hug that followed, chick flick moments be danged.

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Dean almost cringed when Althouse crossed his path on his way to find Sam. But, to his surprise, the other man's opening line wasn't a harsh critique on their latest FUBAR mission. "I owe you an apology, Dean."

Deans' eyebrow shot up at that. "For what?"

Althouse shuffled a bit on his feet before answering. "For accusing you ..and your brother of only caring about each other. Today, you protected us when it could have meant your brother's life. And your brother…he was willing to forfeit his life rather than yank us into an ambush."

Dean didn't mention that what he had done had more to do with honoring Sam's command and trust in him than a choice he made to save Althouse over Sam. But he didn't say that out loud. And when Althouse put out his hand, Dean shook it, but didn't release it until he jokingly pointed out, "But that doesn't mean next time I'll choose you over my brother….or Cas….or Risa…or the life of some mangy dog we come across in the next town."

But Althouse smiled instead of being affronted. "Rrriiiggghtt, you don't want to come off as a softy. Your secret's safe with me." Then he walked away, let his leader go off and do the leader stuff he was so good at.

Sam had noticed the exchange between the two men from his position leaning against the still broken Impala. "So what was that bromance moment between you and Althouse?" Sam asked as Dean approached. "Did he think he had a shot at 2nd in command with me and Cas out of the picture," a bit of an edge to his taunt, because it wasn't like he didn't think Althouse had been thinking that. But then again, Sam was willing to give the man a pass on his doomed career path…if he continued to treat Dean with the respect his brother deserved.

Dean came to lean against the Impala at Sam's side, their shoulders companionably touching. "Actually he apologized," and Dean purposefully waited until Sam's eyebrows arched in surprise before he elaborated. "For his accusations about our loyalties. You impressed him out there, Sam. Me too."

Sam saw that as high praise, not from Althouse but Dean. '_Undeserved though_.' He gave a derogator snort. "What was impressive?! That I stupidly walked into a trap, almost got Cas killed and nearly dragged you in front of a firing squad?!"

"That you willingly put yourself in danger to make sure the rest of us were safe," Dean countered with unshakeable resolve. "And I respected your judgment enough to follow your orders, even though they went against everything in me. Sam, I trusted you, not only to decide what was best for me and my team but to find a way to rescue, not only yourself, but Cas too."

Touched by his brother's faith in him, Sam took a page out of his brother's book and covered up his sappiness with a smart aleck retort. "Yeah, 'cause I know you'd be pissed if something happened to Cas."

"Thoroughly," Dean drawled, both of them knowing full well how Dean felt about something happen to Sam too.

"So something good came out of this," Sam decreed, earning him an incredulous look from his brother. Then Dean began rattling off the not so good stuff.

"We didn't gain any allies. Martinez's group probably has other followers out there looking for me, now us. You needed stitches in your head, Cas is still coughing like a 90 year old and we wasted how much ammo on those losers."

But Sam's smile didn't fade at his brother's recap. "Yeah, but Althouse stopped being a jerk to you. Won't be inciting the camp to turn against you….at least for a month."

Dean smirked at his brother's crazy notion of what mattered before he dropped his eyes, toed the ground by the Impala's fender, said quietly, "His respect wasn't the one I was worried about getting back."

Turning to Dean in surprise, only getting Dean's profile to stare at, Sam huskily declared, "You don't need to get back what was never lost to you." But somehow his brother found amusement in his fealty, was fighting back a laugh when he raised his eyes, that were dancing with hilarity.

"Dude, that was so chick flick it's triggering my gag reflex," Dean slammed, faking a gag gesture, which prompted Sam to retaliate by poking Dean in his very ticklish right side. Dean playfully shoved Sam a few feet away but Sam didn't go far, returned almost instantly to his brother's side against the impala.

"Next mission's yours," Dean announced out of the blue causing Sam to abandon his relaxed position and confront his brother. "No, no. We switch it up mission to mission," Sam argued.

"Nope, monthly rotations," Dean corrected.

Sam challenged, voice rising, "Says who?"

"Me and since I'm older, my word's law," Dean boasted but Sam's face screwed up in objection.  
"Is not!"

"Is too!"

**SN2014SN2014**

Cas looked away from the Winchesters as Risa approached. Before he could offer up a greeting, she surprised him by giving him a hug and announcing, "Glad you're not dead," before she released him.

A little embarrassed by the sentimentality going around, Cas timidly murmured, "Thanks."

Then Risa's gaze followed the ex-angel's to the brothers. "Aren't you going to go referee that?" At Cas's obvious confusion at her suggestion that he interfere with the brothers' bonding moment, Risa drawled, "I mean, I know it's not fair but, it always falls to the oldest to keep his younger siblings in line. In your case, it's a task even angel you couldn't pull off but….I have faith that you'll do your best." Then she winked and walked away.

But she couldn't resist looking over her shoulder to see Cas join his surrogate brothers. And she didn't need to hear their conversation, just watched as whatever Cas said caused the Winchesters to laugh, to know that the little family was going to be just fine. '_And so are the rest of us._' Because they weren't blessed to have just one good man leading them anymore, now they had three.

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**TBC**

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Thanks for reading and reviewing! Final chapter is coming up next!

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


	36. Chapter 36: Choices

Camp Chitaqua

Author: Cheryl W.

Disclaimer: I do not own Dean, Sam or any rights to Supernatural, nor am I making any profit from this story.

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Chapter 36: Choices

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Maybe they can do it right this time, make reparations for all their sins, can come out the winners.

But Sam doesn't have trust in any of that. Trusts Dean, yes. But their lives?! It never ends happily, fate doesn't care how much they sacrifice, their good intentions, just goes for their jugular.

Every. Single. Time.

And he can't do it, can't face a future where winning might mean he and Dean aren't standing side by side at the end. And it's selfish, it's really selfish considering he started this, kicked the lock off of the Cage. But he can't seem to care. It was heaven's plan and they bailed on it, set things in motion then got out of Dodge when things got too hot.

He can't be expected to be more righteous than heaven's showrunners, right?

'_Dean will never go along with it_,' he soberly shot down his own idea. And worse than Dean's denial…would be Dean's disappointment, maybe even disgust in him. So his idea…has to die. '_With one of us, huh?_' because they aren't making it out alive, can't. That hasn't been their track record.

And that terrifying statistic gives Sam the courage to try, not to win but to convince Dean to do the unthinkable in their family: to let evil stand.

It's almost friggin' ironic that The Colt ends up in Dean's hands the very next day.

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It feels heavy in his hands, heavier than any other gun, heavier than it felt when he used it to kill Azazel.

Dean tries not to notice that his hand's trembling, sets The Colt on the table with a thunk and takes a step back. All those years searching for it, determined to find it, resolved to kill the monster that he thought was wearing his brother's meatsuit, soul and all.

He had been prepared to use it…to kill his brother.

Turning his back on the gun, he goes for the liquor, doesn't do anything as civilized as grab a glass, simply gulps down a burning swallow from the bottle. But it doesn't burn away the bile at the back of his throat. '_I was going to kill Sam. Was going to follow dear old Dad's commands to the edge… and way friggin' beyond.' _

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By the time Sam enters the cabin, Dean's drunk, is just sitting in the dark, The Colt laid out within his grasp but he's not touched it since he put it down. Can't.

Sam says nothing. From the slice of moonlight slipping in from the open doorway at his back, he takes in his brother's slouched position, the bottle Dean's still got in hand and The Colt. Closing the door, he claims the chair at Dean's side and chooses to ignore The Colt, to concentrate on his brother. "So…The Colt," he says, like it's a revelation instead of probably the last nail in their coffin.

"The Colt," Dean repeats, head sloppily coming up, glazed eyes resting on Sam. "I looked…everywhere for it." Knows how wrong that was, to tirelessly look for The Colt…and to never look for Sam. Maybe he wants Sam's hatred for that, that desire making him say what he does next. "I was going to use it to kill you: Point blank Range." But Sam registers no shock or even hurt, simply nods his head sadly. '_Sad at me and my predictable obedience to Dad or sad that I have only one setting: blood lust?'_

His hand reaches out for Sam but he misses, almost topples out of his chair …except Sam catches him, saves him.

Setting Dean back upright in his chair, Sam is reluctant to let his brother go, to trust his balancing abilities right then. But then Dean fists his hands in his shirt and it feels like he's grabbed ahold of his soul when his eyes search his, looking for…Sam doesn't know what.

"I shoulda looked for you…I shoulda let us be the dynamic duo …shoulda trusted you," Dean stammers, needs Sam to hear him, to know how sorry he was, that he knows how wrong he was.

"I wasn't trustworthy Dean," Sam bluntly counters, had years to think it through, replay that last conversation…..heck, all their conversations that last year and he knows he wasn't going to be ok, was going to come apart, would have dragged Dean down into the mire with him.

"We could have done things differently, have things…end differently," Dean insists and Sam stiffens at Dean's '_end differently'_.

"Is that what this is, Dean? The end?" hates that his voice is hoarse, that his eyes are burning, that his planned speech to Dean about conceding the battle is imploding in his chest cavity right where his heart is.

But Dean looks away from him, looks to The Colt. "Colt's here, Sammy." And there's not hope in his tone, not determination that victory is neigh but sad acceptance of his condemnation, _their_ condemnation.

And it infuriates Sam, Dean's acceptance that his life should always be forfeit for the greater good. Surging from the chair so abruptly that it crashes backward, he has Dean staring at him like he's a raving lunatic. And that is before he snatches The Colt off the table and throws it across the room, to smash through the glass window in the door.

"Sam, that's The Colt!" Dean shouts, coming to his feet, stumbling around the table but Sam grabs him at waist and shoulder, holds him back.

"We don't even know if it'll kill him, Dean! All you and I know is….we probably won't both survive the attempt," Sam shouts back, reaches up and cups Dean's face, gets his brother's clearing eyes sighted on him. "We don't have to do this, we can…survive. Right here. He doesn't have his vessel, he won't last much longer, he'll have to …quit and go home."

"We don't know that, Sam!" Dean parries back, afraid of what Sam's saying, of the way his heart's beating in his chest at even the idea….of getting a pass.

"No, we don't," Sam brokenly admits. Slipping away from Dean, he chides himself for thinking there was another path, that Dean would choose another path. He's heading for the door, to retrieve The Colt, to accept their fates when Dean says…

"It was easier…when I thought he had you, that I was….freeing you," Dean confesses, has lived with this truth for a month now even as the search for The Colt resumed. Because this face off…he wasn't ready for it, wasn't strong enough, righteous enough, brave enough to stand against the devil. Was just a man who had lost his mother, had cost his father his life and his soul, who had abandoned his brother, who had broken in Hell and had the blood of the world's current fatalities staining his soul.

Snagging onto the break in Dean's resolve, Sam swings around, crosses again to his brother. "So we keep our heads down, wait things out."

"Bury our heads while my …_our _mistakes burn the world down?" Dean charges, even as he wants so much to do just that.

"Heaven started all this, Dean. They used us, manipulated us. Now the world's on fire and we _can't_ put out the flames. We can't. Us dying in some forlorn hope plan to kill the devil isn't going to change that," Sam rationalizes.

"So what, we do nothing…" Dean asks with more uncertainty than umbrage.

"We save people, like you already have Dean." Sam points out the door, indicating the camp. "Keep them alive…keep _us _alive."

"How can…can we just turn our backs on this?" Dean stammers, needs to know that, wants Sam to give him an excuse that he can believe, if only in this moment in time.

Tightening his grip on Dean's arms, feeling like there's almost hope that he can get what he wants, Sam entreats, "You said Mom didn't want us to grow up to be hunters, wanted us to be safe. Can't we just…be safe, Dean. For once in our lives, can't it just be enough to keep each other safe?"

Before Dean can answer, Cas walks in the door….. holding the Colt. "If I'm not mistaken, we just scoured the earth three times over for this thing."

When Dean walks by him, takes The Colt from Cas, Sam knows all is lost.

The gun isn't that heavy, feels right in his hand now, like a weapon instead of a burden to bear. Bypassing the table, Dean instead heads to his weapon cabinet…. and reverently but decisively puts The Colt in a place of honor and closes the cabinet. He turns to Sam even as his words are in response to Cas' inquiry, "Now we have it if we ever need it."

"Ever need it…I thought…" But Cas breaks off, sees the look pass between the brothers and has a feeling that the death sentence hanging over him and the two brothers has miraculously been lifted. A wide smile cracks across his lips. "Right, in case of emergency. So …I would say let's get drunk but I see you're already there."

"Always was ahead of the class," Dean brags as he reclaims his seat at the table.

"You mean _clown_ of the class," Sam corrects, too relieved and happy to not be smiling like an idiot.

Joining the brothers at the table, Cas presents the things he thought he was bringing to the wake before their funeral. Tosses an apple at Sam and lays a slice of honest-to-goodness apple pie in front of Dean.

"What?! How?!" Dean stammers, hasn't seen a pie in a very long year.

"Last refugee we just took in, had a garden…and a knack for baking. I think she's a keeper," Cas deems with a wide smile.

"Definitely," Sam and Dean say at the same time.

But then Dean's eyes narrow and he perceptively asks Cas, "What did you get from her?"

"Oh, she's quite beautiful…" Cas reveals and Dean chuckles, offers up a "sly dog," which Cas takes as high compliments coming from Dean.

And then there's silence, but it's not the kind of silence that falls awaiting disaster but the type after a storm, when you know you survived. When you have faith in the fact that, all storms pass eventually, that even if the storm comes roaring your way again, you're stronger that it is, not because you're fearless but because you're not alone.

Cas decides that the world as he knows it has changed when Dean offers Sam half his pie..and Sam takes it. Knows things will never be the same when Dean accepts a similar gift and his friend merrily crunches on Sam's apple. And for the first time in a long time, even within his lifetime, he knows he's watching something special, that sometimes the end of an era is a miracle in the making.

"Crap, this is good," Sam praises, licking pie filling off his thumb.

"See, all these years and you never got that," Dean says, takes another bite from the apple before handing it back to Sam, knows they are Sam's favorite. Sam slides the pie back to Dean.

And Sam almost can't believe that it's happening, that Dean's agreed with him, that they have a chance now to have a life, albeit a crazy croat infested one, but one together. "Thanks," he hoarsely says to Dean because it needs saying.

Dean can't say 'you're welcome', because Sam's request, it was most likely saving his life. "Right back at ya," he says instead, enjoys Sam's smirk and then he's smacking Cas' hand away from his pie. "Hey, you are getting other "gifts" from our new recruit so hands off the pie."

"I'm not feeling the love," Cas grumbles but he's smirking, laughs when Sam throws him the apple which has exactly one more bite left. But he recognizes it for what it is: love and acceptance. Just like what Dean offers when he pulls something out of his pocket and slides it across the table to him with a quiet explanation of "Found this in my travels."

It's not his grace but it's something that restores a part of him. Is a silver necklace with a silver cross. And it reminds him of something he misplaced a while ago and it was time to restore. Looking up to Dean, he realizes the man understands him best of all, knows that he's been lost and needed to be found. And though Dean had done his best to keep him from losing his way, the man was hinting at the true compass he needed: the return of his faith.

"Thank you, Dean."

Dean simply nods, then he sits back in his chair and enjoys the company of his family. And though the rest of the world is in shambles, his world is as perfect as he needs it to be.

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**THE END**

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Well, a million thank yous to all my so reviewers! Your kindness was so appreciated. Also I wanted to thank everyone who put this story on their alerts or favorites.

Have a great day!

Cheryl W.


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